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XoveU's Bmerican Butbocs' Seri es, IMo. 40. 


PUDNEY AND WALP 


¥ 


F; BEAN 

AUTHOR OF 

** COL. JUDSON OF ALABAMA,” ETC. 




NEW YORK 

JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY 

150 WORTH STREET, COR. MISSION PLACE 


■PZ l 

■ S 5 ]4 


Copyright, 1891, 

BY 

UNITED STATES BOOK COMPANY 


CONTENTS. 


* 

CHAPTER I. 

PAGE 

Pudney’s Island, . . . 1 

CHAPTER II. 

The Neighbors, 17 

CHAPTER III. 

The Quarry, 23 

CHAPTER IV. 

The Rise of Pudney & Walp, 30 

CHAPTER V. 

Ben Dodd’s Message to Pudney & Walp, . # . . .39 

CHAPTER VI. 

Pudney Afraid to be Unjust, 47 

CHAPTER VII. 

Pudney’s Predictions FuJ filled, 54 

CHAPTER VIII. 

The Afflictions of the Two Miss Pudneys, .... 64 

CHAPTER IX. 

The Hermit of Winthrop Harbor, 78 

CHAPTER X. 

Mrs. Walp’s Famous Party, 84 

CHAPTER XI. 

Dr. Mackintosh’s Courtship, 113 


CONTENTS. 


IV 


CHAPTER XII. 

Miss Pudney’s Triumphant Humiliation, . 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Vesta Dodd’s New Place, 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Mrs. Mackintosh, 

CHAPTER XV. 

Pudney has an Adventure in Absequam Woods, 
CHAPTER XVI. 

An Unhappy Rich Woman, 

CHAPTER XVII. 

Pudney Grows Avaricious, ...... 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

The Strikers’ Jubilee, 

• CHAPTER XIX. 

How the Strike Prospered, 

CHAPTER XX. 

Pudney Determines to End the Strike, 

CHAPTER XXI. 

How the Strike Ended, 

CHAPTER XXII. 

The Castle Garden Gang, 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

The Woes of the Oppressor Begin, .... 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

Emmie’s Mysterious Correspondent, .... 


PAGE 

. 124 


. 134 


150 


. 154 


. 159 


. 163 


173 


. 177 


. 183 


. 189 


. 197 


. 205 


. 208 


CONTENTS. 


V 


CHAPTER XXV. 

PAGE 

What Had Become of Emmie, 214 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

Pudney Goes Courting’, 227 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

Hunting Titles, 240 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

Pudney Tries to Fall in Love, 254 

CHAPTER XXIX. 


What the Night Watch Happened to See at Absequam, 257 


CHAPTER XXX. 

Rich People in Jail, 266 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

A Discreet Use of Money, . . . . . . 271 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

Coals of Fire on Pudney ’s Head, 278 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

Law and Justice Versus Money, 286 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

A Great Search for the Truth, 304 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

All Talk, 313 

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

Pudney Gets a Big Situation, . . * . . • 322 




























































































> 











































































PUDNEY & WALP. 


CHAPTER I. 

PUDNEY’S ISLAND. 

The bright sun of an early spring morning was 
glittering upon the white sea foam and spray tossed 
up by the angry waves dashing upon the rocks 
bounding the island of Winthrop Harbor, when the 
fishing schooner, Neal Dow, came rolling across the 
rough waters of the Penobscot Bay lying between 
the island and the mainland. 

There was an unusual scene on the schooner’s 
deck and unusual interest was manifested in her 
arrival by the idle group of fishermen and sailors 
that witnessed her entrance to the harbor. Eyes 
were strained by those on shore for a glimpse of the 
party huddled together on the schooner’s deck, 
while on board the little vessel, a group of men, 
women and children shaded their eyes and gazed on 
the rugged, inhospitable shore with the various 
emotions of anxiety, interest, and curiosity. 

It was scarcely an opulent looking party; but 
they were certainly an intelligent, wide-awake class 
of people; and you would at once surmise from the 
interest with which they scanned the shore which 
they approached, as well as from the various arti- 


8 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


cles composing' the schooner’s deckload, that they 
were coming here to cast in their lot with the 
natives. 

The group was also a striking one from the re- 
markable physical beauty of its every member. 
The two women and the children were evidently of 
the same blood, all possessing the same pronounced 
type of Anglo-Saxon beauty, with pale golden hair, 
delicate complexions, and beautifully regular, deli- 
cate features, a beauty well-adorned in the case of 
the younger of the two women and not concealed by 
the old-fashioned, well-mended apparel of the elder 
and her children. 

The younger woman was the first to express her 
opinion upon the scene. 

“ So this is your island, Dan Pudney ! ” she cried, 
scanning the rock-bound coast, the group of unkempt 
fishermen on shore, and gazing beyond upon the 
hilly, barren, rocky soil. “ I wonder who there is 
here to associate with,” she continued in complaining 
tones. “ You needn’t think I shall ever come down 
to mixing with the dregs of creation after being two 
years at Bucksport.” 

The man addressed was a tall, broad-shouldered, 
good-looking Yankee, about thirty-five years of age, 
with a high, open brow, large, intelligent gray eyes, 
a face as sun-burned and weather-beaten as a sailor’s, 
and well framed in a long, shaggy brown beard and 
curling, chestnut-brown hair. He was dressed in 
a comfortable, but well-worn suit of heavy dark 
brown woolen goods, with a red muffler around his 
neck and well-darned, coarse blue mittens on his 
hands; and, at first glance, the ordinary observer 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


9 


would see in the man nothing- more than a great, 
huge, frank, good-natured, simple-minded rustic, 
devoid of any especial force or strength of char- 
acter. 

Looking down upon the petulant young woman, 
whose foolish plaints would have been of less conse- 
quence had she not been, for the last quarter of a 
year, though still in her teens, the adored wife of his 
young partner, he pointed toward the land, ex- 
claiming with enthusiasm: 

“ Look at that pile of granite ! The island is one 
solid chunk of granite ! What do you think of it, 
Walp ?” he asked of the young man supporting the 
dissatisfied young woman. “ I tell you there’s money 
in them rocks ! You mustn’t judge the island too 
quick. Sue. Them fishermen are as clever a set of 
men as you’ll find in the whole State of Maine. But 
Tom and I are after granite; and when you want 
granite you must be satisfied with granite — h ain’t 
that so, Tom ? ” 

"Yes, that’s so,” replied Walp, trying to warm 
up to his partner’s enthusiasm concerning the 
pecuniary value of the barren rocks before him. 
“ Sue will like it as well as any of us after a while.” 

He was a man ten years or so younger than Pud- 
ney, of much lighter build, with flaxen hair, a 
slender, curling, flaxen mustache, and a face of 
almost effeminate beauty; and his dress, like that 
of his wife, denoted either the possession of greater 
wealth or more taste, or both. But the difference 
between the two men did not, by any means, stop 
here. Walp, though not exactly a fount of wisdom, 
or even a fairly convenient encyclopaedia of knowl- 


10 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


edge, had, like his wife, spent two years at Bucks- 
port Seminary, while Pudney’s scholastic career had 
stopped at the little red frame school-house of his 
district while he was yet a barefooted hoy more 
devoted' to fishhooks and skates than to his slate 
and arithmetic. 

There was still another difference between the two 
men. Pudney, whose matrimonial existence covered 
a period of fourteen years, thought his wife in duty 
bound to like the home he provided and to dwell 
therein without a murmur; while the younger man 
took it for granted that his first duty was to keep 
Mrs. Walp’s brow clear of frowns whether he made 
any money or not. 

“ You know I wouldn’t stay here, Sue, if you didn’t 
like,” he cried, “not if the island was made of gold; 
hut we’ve crossed the "Rubicon ; and we couldn’t go 
hack to-night anyhow, even if we wanted to.” 

Pudney secretly congratulated himself that his 
partner, had, indeed, “ crossed the Rubicon.” His 
oxen, his horse, his wagon, and all his household 
goods, were aboard the schooner; his little farm 
was sold and a part of the proceeds already invested 
in the necessary implements for quarrying granite; 
and, as he said, the Neal Dow made no return trip 
that day. 

“ I guess,” cried Pudney cheerily, “ Sue will be the 
last to want to go back once we get a good start. 
If I could make five hundred dollars in one year 
workin’ here alone without capital, think what Tom 
and I can do together with what money we’ve 
scraped up.” 

But the only response vouchsafed by the unhappy 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


11 


young* woman, was a repetition of her previous wail 
as she surveyed the barren-looking island. 

“How dreadfully lonely it must he here ! To 
expect Tom and me to stand this after being two 
years at Bucksport ! ” 

“ I tell ye what we can do,” cried Pudney, a bright 
idea striking him as he saw the rueful expression 
overspreading Walp’s face. “If Sue finds it so 
awful lonesome, we can sail over to Deer Isle or 
Mount Desert any Sunday to meetin’ and take a 
basket along with our dinner. That’ll be jolly, Sue, 
and ’tain’t fur. Now do try and be contented. Sue, 
for the Lord’s sake, and don’t get Tom down in the 
mouth. Try and be like Lib. Look at her, now. She 
hain’t spoken one fault-findin’ word yet; and if she 
did, it would be the first sence the day I married her.” 

“ O Lib ! she can stand anything ! ” cried Mrs. 
Walp, turning toward her elder sister contemptu- 
ously. 

Mrs. Pudney was not, however, the dependent, 
confiding, helpless being the words of her husband 
and sister seemed to indicate. Fourteen years of 
Married life with Pudney, and the maternity of four 
children with inexhaustible powers of destroying 
food and raiment, had not pervaded her mind with 
such blind trust in her husband’s infallibility as a 
prophet, or his reliability as a bread-winner, that 
she could survey the approaches to this last new 
home he had provided, without grave concern. But 
in all his ups and downs in life, of which he had had 
many, she had ever been a sympathetic friend, a 
zealous defender, and, to the extent of her ability, 
an indefatigable helper. 


12 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


“Well, Lib, what do }mu think of it?” cried 
Pudney. 

“ I forgot,” replied Mrs. Pudney, evading his ques- 
tion, “to ask you how near the school-house is.” 

Pudney’s face fell. The bronze hue of his cheek 
deepened. He laughed with embarrassment. “ IPs 
a shame. Lib,” he replied. “There hain’t a school- 
house on this island — as yet,” but, brightening up* 
he added: “ But we shall have one in the course of 
a year — I shall build it myself, and I hahTt jokin’. 
The young ones will have to study to home same’s 
they did last winter; and if they don’t know their 
lessons when you get ready to hear ’em, you blow 
the dinner-horn; and no matter what I’m doin’, I’ll 
drop everything and come up and skin ’em alive. 
Do you hear that, sir,” he cried, seizing his first-born 
by the ear. “ Do you hear, Dick ? And you, Laura, 
you lazy trollop ? I want you all to grow up and be 
scholars like your Aunt Sue and your Uncle Tom, 
and,” he added, as a complimentary after- thought, 
“ like your mother,” for, although Mrs. Pudney had 
never “been to Bucksport” like her more fortunate 
sister, she had, at all events, “kept school” before 
Pudney married her. “Don’t you be down-hearted 
about the school-house, Lib,” continued Pudney. “ I 
am just as anxious about that as you are. I’m 
bound my young ones shall have a better chance to 
get an education than I ever had ; and it’s on my 
mind night and day; you must try and have pa- 
tience; everything will come out all right;” and 
thus striving to encourage his down-hearted women 
folks, and a faint-hearted partner to have faith in 
his island and the feasibility of his schemes, the 


PUDNEY # WALP. 


13 


great man of the future conducted the party ashore 
— he, dragging them, as it were, to wealth and glory 
by sheer force of character and will; they, feeling 
that they were going, his victims once again, like 
lambs to the slaughter. 

The household goods, which belonged principally 
to the Walps, were loaded up on the ox-cart which 
also belonged to Walp; the women and the three 
little girls climbed into the wagon — another piece 
of Walp"s property, mother and aunt each holding 
a child on her lap — the elder girl, a beautiful, proud 
little miss of eleven, standing up in the back of the 
vehicle, holding fast to the back of the seat; and 
while Walp, with Master Dick at liis side drove the 
ox-team, Pudney took charge of the female party in 
the wagon; and thus entered into Winthrop Harbor 
the families of Pudney and Walp, the owners of 
what eventually became the largest and most suc- 
cessful granite quarry in the country, which has 
done millions of dollars" worth of work for public 
and private parties, stone from the Pudney & Walp 
Granite Works being found in many of the finest 
public and private buildings in nearly every city in 
the United States. 

Mrs. Walp, holding her little niece on her lap, 
with no premonition of any future greatness, and 
Mrs. Pudney with one child on her knee and another 
standing insecurely at her back as the wagon jolted 
over the rough road, looked eagerly all about them 
as they drove toward the habitation which Pudney 
had secured for their joint abode. 

/"Such a forlorn, God-forsaken country I never 
saw!"" wailed Mrs. Walp, gazing in dismay upon 


14 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


the bleak waste of barren hills still covered here and 
there with snow, the occasional hut of a fisherman, 
or skyward upon the flocks of screaming white sea 
gulls, and then upon the rocky, marvelously precipi- 
tous road with up grades and down grades which it 
seemed no horse could scale or descend. 

Pudney walked all of the way. So did the horse; 
and often the women and children shrieked that 
they were falling out as the wagon wheels went 
high up in the air on one side and way down on the 
other. 

They had just scaled down a steep hill from the 
top of which they had obtained a glimpse of the sea, 
and Mrs. Walp had just demanded how much 
further they had to travel this atrocious road (for 
so they called it even at Bucksport), when they 
came in sight of a small, one story, unpainted frame 
shanty, standing, uninclosed and solitary, in the 
midst of a wild chaos of granite hills and gigantic 
bowlders in every fantastic form, towering sky- 
ward, and enveloping the little house on all sides as 
far as the eye could reach, with not another human 
habitation anywhere in sight. 

Pudney was walking by the horse, holding him 
up with the reins with all his might as he slipped 
and stumbled down the narrow, precipitous ledge 
that formed the road, when, as they reached a level, 
he called out: 

“ Whoa ! ” and throwing the reins over the horse’s 
back he cried out cheerfully, “ Well ! here we are; 
and I guess you are glad of it, all of ye ! ” 

He had never expected Mrs. Walp to be pleased 
with the house or its surroundings; but the expres- 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


15 


sion with which she gazed at the shanty and back 
at him in speechless dismay and indignation, was 
-very threatening to the prospects of the quarry. 

“'Tain't much of a house,” he said apologetically* 
with an embarrassed laugh; “but it’s near the 
quarry and that's what you'll like, you know, Sue. 
You can run down and see Tom every time you go 
to the wood- pile.'' 

Without waiting for a reply he hastened to the 
shanty and unlocked the door. 

There was nothing superfluous about the house — 
no vestibule, no hall, no parlor, no dining-room, no 
pantries, no store-rooms; but there was a good-sized 
kitchen with a generous open fireplace and one large 
bedroom on the ground floor. Above, reached by 
railless, open- backed stairs, ascending like Jacob's 
ladder straight in the air from one corner of the 
kitchen, was one large attic room. The walls of the 
two rooms below were finished and recently white- 
washed ; the floors, though uneven and much worn, 
were freshly painted a vivid yellow. There were 
three narrow windows in each room. Up-stairs, the 
floor consisted of unplaned boards which rattled and 
teetered and tipped up under the foot in the most 
alarming way. The walls were of naked laths and 
plaster, the ceiling of naked beams festooned with 
cobwebs; the eaves met the floor; and the only 
windows were two single sashes of four small panes 
in the sloping roof, one on each side of the ridgepole. 

As their father threw open the door, the children 
ran gleefully into the house, making the empty 
rooms resound with their laughter and shouts. 

Pudney was endeavoring to pull out a nail over one 


16 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


of the windows when his wife and sister-in-law 
entered. 

“ Fm try in* to let out this smel-l of paint,” he 
shouted above the noise of the children, ignoring 
their looks of consternation. “'Tain't much of a 
house, I know,” he added, “but it'll have to do till 
we can build. Hain't no other to be had for love 
nor money. Well, do you think you can stand it. 
Lib ? What you think. Sue ? Can you stand it till 
w T e can build ? ” 

“ It looks like a good warm house,” replied Mrs. 
Pudney soothingly, with, however, slender evidence 
for her judgment, unless she meant warm for 
summer: “and I don't doubt but that we can 
manage to get along as you say till you can build. 
For my part, I am thankful it’s as comfortable as 
it is.” 

“ Oh, you ! ” cried her sister, scornfully, “ you can 
stand - anything ! Where am I going to put my 
parlor furniture I'd like to know; and where's my 
organ to stand and my best bed-room suit, and 
where am I to hang my pictures?” and over- 
whelmed with the anguish of these considerations, 
she sank down on the stairs and burst into tears 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


17 


CHAPTER II. 

THE NEIGHBORS. 

When Walp arrived with the ox-cart he found a 
blazing* fire on the hearth and all hands seated on 
logs in its cheerful glow. Mrs. Walp’s tears had 
ceased to fall; for Lib had shown her where the 
parlor suit could stand and where the organ could 
be effectively displayed, and even where, beyond a 
curtain dividing the “ other room ” into two apart- 
ments, the best chamber suit could be shown off. 

Before long the goods were unpacked and some- 
thing like a home was beginning to appear in the 
shanty; and by that time everybody was too tired 
to cook anything hot for supper and too hungry to 
wait for anything to be cooked; so they hurriedly 
laid the table with what cold snack they could 
collect, and were just about to seat themselves at 
the table when they heard a rap at the door. 

It proved to be one of the fishermen belonging to 
the “ dregs of creation ” whom they had seen at the 
landing. He had tramped Wo miles to bring them 
a kettle of steaming hot clam-chowder. 

Pudney formally presented him to his wife and 
family as Mr. John Ross; and Mrs. Pudney thanked 
him with all her heart and told him the chowder 
would be a great treat to all of them. 

“ Didn’t I tell you, Sue, them fishermen was a 
2 


18 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


clever set ! ” triumphantly cried Pudney as the door 
closed on their visitor. 

“You needn't expect me to associate with any- 
body like that, clever or no/’ retorted Mrs. Walp; 
and then she fell to eating the chowder with as 
much appetite as though it had been donated by an 
earl or a duke. 

"Well, for my part,” said Pudney, “ I don’t con- 
sider myself above John Ross or anybody else that 
behaves himself. But,” he added hastily, remem- 
bering, all at once, that Walp always took his wife’s 
part, and that the furniture, and even the stove and 
tea-kettle, as well as the larger half of the capital of 
the new firm belonged to them, " everybody to their 
likin’s; and if you want to ’sociate with big-bugs, 
there’s plenty of ’em at Deer Isle, and Mount Desert, 
and the Isle au Haute, too, or you can cross over to 
Rockland, any time. But for my part, deliver me 
from ’ristocrats; they’ve always crowded me to the 
wall sence the day I ’came a man. Anybody that 
behaves himself is as good as I am; and there hain’t 
nobody any better.” 

At that moment there was another knock at the 
door, this time faint and timid. 

Pudney shouted " Come in ! ” and there appeared 
on the threshold, a tall, thin, middle-aged woman, in 
a Shaker bonnet and a calico dress; and she had a 
basket on her arm. 

“ Why, how d’ye do. Mis’ Thompkins,” cried Pud- 
ney. "My wife. Mis’ Thompkins; my wife’s sister, 
Mis’ Walp, Mis’ Thompkins; my wife’s brother-in- 
law, Mr. Walp, Mis’ Thompkins. Set down. Mis’ 
Thompkins.” 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


19 


Mrs. Thompkins received all these stately courte- 
sies with many blushes and much awkward embar- 
rassment ; but once the introductions were over, her 
talk began to flow on and on as though she had 
known the whole family for years. 

“Ye’ll larf, mebbe, Mis* Pudney,” she began, 
“but Pve brought ye some baked beans and brown 
bread right out of the brick oven,” and then she re- 
lated in detail the history of her determination to 
bring the beans, and all the reasons and causes 
actuating her thereto. 

“What a good kind soul !” exclaimed Mrs. Pud- 
ney as the voluble lady took her leave. 

“ She doesn’t know the first thing that belongs to 
good manners,” cried Mrs. Walp, “to invite us to 
call on her first ! She can’t think we can take this 
for a call, and she in a calico dress and a Shaker 
bonnet ! ” 

She had scarcely done speaking when another of 
the dregs of creation appeared with a donation of 
hot fish-chowder. 

“ Oh, how kind the neighbors are ! ” cried Mrs. 
Pudney with tears in her eyes. “ I declare we don’t 
deserve it ! ” 

“Didn’t I tell ye them fishermen were clever 
fellers, Sue ? ” demanded Pudney again, as the donor 
of the fish-chowder took his leave. 

“Perhaps they are clever,” replied Mrs. Walp, 
“but they don’t know the first thing that belongs 
to good manners. You’ll never catch me associat- 
ing with any of them.” 

“Well, I thank the Lord I hain’t a ’ristocfat !” 
cried Pudney, reddening with indignation; then, 


20 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


quite forgetting, for the moment, that the Walps 
owned the furniture and even the very table cover- 
ing his legs, he added with access of energy, “ and, 
by God, I wunt have my young ones brought up to 
he Aristocrats ! Do you mind that, Lib ? One man’s 
as good as another if he behaves himself; and that’s 
what I want you to distinctly understand that I’ll 
have you learn the young ones. I want you to learn 
’em that God Almighty made fishermen just as good 
as they are, and better, if they don’t behave them- 
selves and keep a civil tongue in their heads.” 

The Walps were both silent under what they felt 
to be the indisputable logic of this pronunciamento; 
and nothing was heard for some time but the gus- 
tatory delights of four hungry children and an equal 
number of hungry men and women over hot clams, 
fish-chowder, and baked beans. Finally Pudney 
himself broke the silence; but this time. he spoke 
more temperately. 

“ If I hain’t missed my calc’lations, and I know I 
hain’t, I shall be a rich man before a great many 
years; and my children will be a rich man’s chil- 
dren; but I’m determined they shan’t grow up to 
be ’ristocrats and big-bugs. I want ’em. to learn to 
treat everybody that behaves himself as they want 
other folks to treat them ; and I never want ’em to 
forget that their father was a poor man once, 
devilish poor ; and that what he’s made, he’s made 
by hard work.” 

When the meal was finished, he rose from the 
table, and going to the door looked out. 

“ I tell you what I want you all to do,” he said, 
after a moment’s survey of earth and sky. “I 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


21 


want you all to put on your thing's, you, Sue, and 
Lib, and the young ones, and come along with Tom 
and me. I want you to come down with me to the 
quarry, and Pll show you where I struck my first 
blow; and Pll show you the log hut where I lived a 
year. Just leave everything and come. I want 
you to see things just as I left ’em — just as I lived. 
To-morrow Tom and Pll want to overhaul it, for 
we’re goin’ to use it for our tool-house.” 

He was not altogether sentimental in this request. 
He was simply pervaded with the belief that he 
would eventually become a rich man; and he was 
determined that his children should not thereby 
become “ ’ristocrats ” and “big-bugs”; and he was 
going to give them to-night their first lesson in 
humility. 

“I guess,” he said persuasively to Mrs. Walp, 
“ you’ll like the walk, Sue, and you’ll like to take a 
look at the sea. We can see it from the top of the 
hill, yonder. We shall get there just in time to see 
the sun set ; and it looks real interestin’ to look off 
shore and watch the sun a-settin’. Pve often walked 
along there after my day’s work was done, and 
smoked my pipe, and watched the sun a-sinkin’ into 
the sea. It looks all red and yeller, and all kinds 
of colors; and just the last minute, as it drops down 
behind the great swellin’, heavin’ billows like a big 
ball of fire and the wind rises and the sea howls, it 
always makes me feel real solemn.” 

Mrs. Walp’s imagination was excited; and ex- 
pressing her very strong desire to be one of the 
party, she hastened for her shawl and hat. 

“ But I hope,” she cried in alarm as the children 


22 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


trooped up ready for the walk, “ I hope we hain’t 
all going*. What if the house should take fire and 
burn up my parlor furniture and organ ! ” 

“ Well, 1 guess we can’t all go, that’s so,” returned 
Pudney, looking around for a victim bo sacrifice on 
the altar of the parlor furniture. “ Hain’t you goin’ 
to come. Lib ? ” 

The children stared at the bare suggestion that 
their mother should join in such a frolic or go an}^- 
where or do anything but work. But the drollery 
of the situation quickly vanished. 

“ I’ll stay and take care of the house,” she replied. 
“ It isn’t right to leave it alone, as Sue says but 
she refrained from adding the unpleasant informa- 
tion that she couldn’t go, anyway, as her shoes 
leaked and she had no rubbers. 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


23 


CHAPTER III. 

THE QUARRY. 

“ Heavens ! what a lonely place !” was Mrs. 
Walp’s first ejaculation as they started out. “I 
don't see how I can stand it ! ” she whined. 

“ YouTl live to see a big town on this island, Sue, 
and the thickest part of it will be right around here, 
mark my words ! " said Pudney in tones of calm 
conviction. 

“ Well, there hain’t any town here now,” grumbled 
Mrs. Walp. 

Pudney had the delicacy to lead the advance 
with the children, leaving the Walps to exercise 
their prerogative as a newly wedded couple, of fall- 
ing behind; for they bore the reputation of being 
very much in love with each other and were very 
fond of maintaining it; in fact, they believed it 
themselves, and it might indeed have been true. 
It is certain they were mutual, admirers. Walp 
could scarcely remove his gaze from his wife’s beau- 
tiful face; and Mrs. Walp greatly admired Walp’s 
effeminate beauty of countenance, his rather narrow 
shoulders, which she thought genteel, his slender 
waist and his curling blonde mustache; moreover, 
they had been to Bucksport together where they 
studied French and Latin almost out of the same 
book, as it were, and went hand in hand together 


24 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


to quaff deep draughts from the celebrated Pierian 
fount. 

Pudney had led the way aross the open fields to 
the top of a steep hill a short distance from the 
house; and as they reached the summit they came 
upon a scene of grandeur enough to move a savage. 
Below them lay the ocean, tumultuously rolling and 
breaking with great violence upon the rocky shore, 
throwing up great clouds of white spray high in the 
air, like some enraged wild beast, frothing and foam- 
ing in mad fury. 

“ Hain’t it a sight ! ” cried Pudney deeply affected. 

They all stood looking at the ocean, their eyes 
following each mighty wave as it came rolling up 
to the shore and dashed itself on the rocks, and re- 
ceded, and rolled back again and again in tireless 
energy and persistence. 

“ I could stand here and watch these big rollers 
forever, couldn’t you?” shouted Pudney above the 
tumult of the waves. But come, we must make 
haste.” 

“ I wish we could get this view of the ocean from 
the house,” cried Mrs. Walp. "I could stand it 
better to live there for a while without neighbors.” 

They commenced the descent of the hill. 

“ I suppose that’s your late residence down there ? ” 
cried Mrs. Walp as they came in sight of a small 
log hut some distance below. 

“ Yes, Sue,” returned Pudney impressive^, “ that’s 
my log hut. Look at it, young ones. Look at it 
Dick. You see it, Laura?” Sometimes, indeed, it 
seems that “ coming events cast their shadows 
before.” Pudney now saw and felt the advancing 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


25 


shadows of futurity with the perception of a prophet. 
“There’s where your father has lived for a year, 
children.^ Come along- and look inside. I guess 
you’ll think by the time you’ve seen the inside of 
that shanty that the other is a palace.” 

They went down the hill; Pudney unlocked the 
rude door, and they entered. 

The hut, built of unhewn logs, was about fifteen 
feet square, facing the sea, and was lighted by one 
small window near the roof. The floor was the solid 
granite foundation of the island. A stove-pipe pro- 
truding through the roof answered for a chimney. 
A very diminutive stove, covered with ashes and 
grease, badly cracked and propped up on granite 
legs, stood in the centre of the one room. On one 
side was an iron bedstead on which lay a straw-bed, 
some calico quilts, and a pair of very ragged sheets, 
all in a confused heap. There was one wooden chair 
with three broken spokes in the .hack, and a pine 
table on which were a few dishes and some indis- 
pensable culinary utensils — and other - furniture in 
the hut there was none. 

“Here’s where your father et and slept for a 
year, children, while you was all snug and warm at 
your grandpa’s,” cried their father as they all 
entered the hut. Do r you see, Dick ? There’s the 
stove, sir, where your father cooked his victuals. 
Here’s the spider I fried my po’k in, Laura. Do 
you see? And you, Hat, and Emmie, look now, 
every one of ye. I want you all to pay ’tention, 
now. See, this is what I boiled my coffee In; and 
this is what I baked my Johnny cake in; and here’s 
the pot I baked my beans in. There’s my po’k 


26 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


barrel. Come outside. See, I cut this hole out of 
the solid granite; and every Saturday mornin' I 
built a fire in it and put that rock on top; and by 
ten o'clock I raked out the coals and put in my pot 
of po'k and beans and my brown bread; and by 
Sunday mornin' they was grand ! To-morrer we'll 
take these things to the house. I guess they'll 
come in play. This is goin' to be our shop after 
this. Well, you all see how I've lived. Now I'd like 
to see any of my children grow up to be 'ristocrats. 
What you think about it, Dick ? What you got to 
say, Laura ? " 

The two children addressed looked askance at 
their aunt and murmured evasively that they didn’t 
know. 

“ You don't know, hay ? If your father gets rich, 
you think you're goin' to put on airs and strut 
'round and be 'ristocrats ? " 

There was a haughty elevation of the beautiful 
eleven-year-old young lady's graceful chin, a proud 
toss of the head, and her lovely eyes dilated as she 
glanced once more toward her aunt as if for protec- 
tion; but otherwise she neither moved nor spoke; 
and Dick, like his sister, stood mute; but there was 
a frown on his face and a resentful gleam in his eye 
as his father added sternly, “ You let me ketch any 
of ye puttin' on airs, that's all." Then looking 
down on the two younger children whom he led by 
the hand, he asked, half playfully, "Well, young- 
sters, what you got to say ? Are you goin' to be a 
couple of little stuck-ups? Two little 'ristocrats, 
hay ? " 

The elder of the two, a little girl of nine, cast a 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


27 

side-long glance toward her elder brother and sister 
but said nothing; but the youngest, in whose mind 
to he an aristocrat meant to eat other people’s do- 
nations of beans and chowder without gratitude 
and to ridicule the donors behind their backs, cried 
out earnestly : “ I shall never be a ’ristocrat, father. 
It’s wicked ! I’d be ashamed ! ” and turning a look 
of disapprobation upon her aunt, she added, “l 
sha’n’t be like Aunt Sue.” 

“ Ta ! ta ! what you talkin’ about ! ” hastily cried 
her father. “ Come, I want to show you where I 
struck my first blow, just one year ago the twenty - 
third day of this month,” and leading the way fur- 
ther down the hill- side he cried out: “Here it is; 
this is the very spot ! You see it. Sue ? Look, Tom ! 
Look a-here, children, here’s where your father 
began this quarry just one year ago the twenty- 
third day of this month. Here I came, without a 
cent of capital but my own strong right arm, my 
hammer, and my trade, and all sole alone, I hewed 
five hundred dollars out of the granite foundation of 
this island, and mark ye, where others had failed 
at it time and time again before me. I calc’late 
this is goin’ to be a quarry that’ll beat all the 
granite quarries in the world. I calc’late that Tom 
and I, if we live, will make money and make a good 
deal of it. I know I shall be a millionaire before I 
die ! ” 

To Mrs. Walp, and indeed, to Walp, too, it 
sounded like vain and empty boasting and brag- 
ging. Pudney had always been poor, had always 
failed in every enterprise he had undertaken (and 
he had undertaken a grea t many), had never been 


28 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


able to support his wife for two consecutive years, 
but was continually sending her, with all her little 
ones, to live upon an aged and hard-working father; 
so it sounded like boasting and bragging; for it is 
not always possible to distinguish the judgments of 
calm, far-seeing sagacity from the baseless fabrica- 
tions of a sanguine imagination and of wild, unrea- 
soning speculation. Pudney had never succeeded 
before and it seemed incredible that he could succeed 
now; so his prophecies and prognostications went 
for idle talk, and his expectations of wealth for 
vain and foolish castles in the air. 

“ He/s just as big a fool as ever he was ! ” mur- 
mured Mrs. Walp in her husband’s ear. 

They descended the hill to the rocky shore, Pudney 
still leading the way with the children. Conversa- 
tion was now no longer possible, the loudest shouts 
being scarcely audible above the wild roar of the 
sea. 

The setting sun, now resting just on the edge of 
the horizon, looked like a ball of fire trembling for 
a moment on the surface of the heaving billows. 
Pudney stood like one entranced and gazed upon 
the scene till the lurid sun dropped down, down, like 
a great burning world, into the mystic depths of 
the sea; and instantly, as though it had set the 
heavens and earth afire, sea and sky were ablaze 
with a ruddy glow, spreading higher and higher in 
the heavens, and wider and wider over the deep. 

Pudney stood a long time wrapped in meditation, 
his face illumined by the glowing sunset and filled 
with pent-up emotion. At last his chest heaved 
and a tear rolled down his cheek. Not a word was 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


29 


spoken; not a sound was audible but the thunderous 
pounding* of the waves on the rocks, lashing the sea 
into white breakers, reaching, line after line, far out 
from the shore. 

At last, Mrs. Walp, with her fingers in her ears, 
signified that the tumult was unbearable and they 
retraced their steps up the hill. 

About half-way up they paused to look back. 

“ H ain’t it grand?” shouted Pudney. “Don't it 
make ye feel solemn? If God spares my life I'll 
build a house right up there on top of this hill ! It 
always makes me feel so solemn to watch the ocean 
dashin' and breakin’ on the rocks in such a fury. 
I'm thinkin', all the time, that's the way the Al- 
mighty 'll deal with evil-doers at the Last Great 
Day; and I'm thinkin' that that awful wailin', and 
roarin', and shriekin', is like the wailin' and shriekin' 
of the damned. It scares me to think of it ! But 
hain't it, though, like the wrath and fury of the 
Almighty toward the wicked, and the hard-hearted, 
and the proud and conceited, and the cruel and in- 
human ? That's what I w r as thinkin', and it makes 
me shudder ! I tell ye now, I don't b'lieve a man 
can go astray if he lives where he can look out of 
his winder every day and see God in the roarin' sea ! 
I'd have to do right and be just to all mankind and 
be square in all my dealin's with friend and foe. I'd 
be obliged to. It makes me feel as if the Almighty 
was right at my elbow, and I darsn't do a wrong 
act and I darsn't think an evil thought,” and a tear 
rolled down his cheek; then after a momentary 
silence he added, “ I feel real bad Libby didn't come ! 
It's a darn shame ! ” 


30 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


CHAPTER IY. 

THE RISE OF PUDNEY & WALP. 

The new era of the Pudney & Walp Granite 
Quarry began the next morning. All the spring 
and late into the summer, the two men worked 
alone and worked hard, barely making good day's 
wages, Pudney quarrying the granite, and Walp, 
who knew nothing of the stone-cutter's trade, driv- 
ing the oxen which Pudney shod with his own hands. 
To Walp, also, fell the duty of putting in bids for 
contracts to furnish stone for buildings, bridges, 
dams, et cetera, shipping the stone, keeping the ac- 
counts, managing the finances, and attending to the 
correspondence. 

Both men worked early and late. Walp liked the 
business better than farming; and dreading nothing 
more than the eventual necessity of returning to 
agriculture, which he both despised and disliked, he 
put all his energies to the effort of making the 
quarry a success; and it was not long before Pud- 
ney, to his great satisfaction, discovered that his 
young partner possessed unusual ability for his own 
particular share of the business. 

Neither of the men had any opportunity, during 
this early stage of their career, to pine for the de- 
lights of society. When they returned to their 
humble dwelling after their day's labor was ended. 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


31 


they were content to tip their chairs back against 
the wall in the kitchen, and, in their shirt sleeves, 
talk business and lay out plans while the women 
folks cleared away the table and washed the dishes; 
or, when the weather grew warm, they would sit on 
a rock by the doorway, talking and listening to the 
chirp of crickets and the croaking of frogs; or if they 
longed to go beyond the shadow of their own vine 
and fig-tree, they were satisfied to stroll with the 
women and children on the seashore and watch the 
never-ending break of the sea on the rocks; and Mrs. 
Walp, sympathizing with Walp’s contempt of agri- 
culture, and hoping the time was not far distant 
when the firm of Pudney & Walp could afford to 
hire a man to drive the oxen, and when Walp’s own 
share of the work would admit of white hands and 
good clothes every day, tried to be patient, although 
murmuring bitterly over the hardship of seeing no- 
body and having nobody see her. She had, at that 
time, little taste for reading and none whatever for 
thinking; but she possessed an infinite fund of talk; 
and her talk was principally on the subject of build- 
ing the new house for her parlor furniture and organ. 

She tormented Pudney and harassed Walp. 
Pudney was beginning to hate her. His own wife 
performed nearly all the household labors, looked 
after the cow, the milk, the butter-making, and, 
without waiting for the quarry to pay, she had 
quietly gone into business on her own account, hav- 
ing established a hennery at the back of the house, 
where, with a capital of five dollars, borrowed from 
her life-long friend and school-mate, Betsey Dodd 
(formerly Betsey Rich), she had a fine stock of hens 


32 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


and chickens; and before long- the profits of the 
business not only supplied every article of food used 
in the family, but even the children’s shoes and calico 
gowns and enabled her to repay her debt to her 
friend, Betsey Dodd. But while “ Lib ” thus ignobly 
spent her spare moments caring for sitting hens and 
sick chickens, Mrs. Walp hovered over the quarry 
(when there were no blasts going off) with a bit of 
crochet work in her hands, sighing for the new house 
and “ associates.” 

Pudney was on the verge of quarreling with her 
when suddenly an event occurred which led to the 
transformation of the barren little isle into a pop- 
ulous town, made Pudney & Walp rich, converted 
the little shanty into a handsome palatial abode on 
the hill, turned the majority of the little Pudneys 
into aristocrats, and transformed Mrs. Walp into a 
dashing, magnificent leader of fashion and society, 
with a bank account of her own. 

Pudney was smoking his pipe on a rock by the 
kitchen door after supper, one evening in the latter 
part of July, when Walp came and told him the 
government was calling for bids for furnishing 
granite for a lighthouse on the east coast of Maine. 

“Golly! how I wish we could get it! ” cried Pud- 
ney. “We must try, Tom, anyhow.” 

“Yes,” replied Walp, “it’s just a question of the 
lowest bid.” 

“ Well, go ahead,” returned Pudney. “ I know we 
can do it as cheap as anybody,” and the two men 
went into the house, pushed back the table-cloth 
covered with crumbs and potato parings from the 
meal just ended, and sat down at the kitchen table 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


33 


and figured up exactly what it would cost to supply 
the stone required, and found it would be in the 
neighborhood of eight thousand dollars. To this 
they added one thousand dollars for their own labor 
' and sent in their bid; and to their great amazement 
the contract was awarded to them. They filled it 
in four months, doing the entire work themselves, 
and, thanks to Walp’s masterly management of the 
shipping of it, instead of one thousand dollars, they 
cleared eighteen hundred; and from this time their 
success was assured. More contracts poured in, 
workmen were employed, new appliances were 
bought, sheds for the stone were built, the new house 
on the hill was begun, becoming, eventually, by sub- 
sequent additions, a spacious, ornate mansion to 
which they gave the name of “Seaview”; and the 
school-house for which Mrs. Pudney had pined, was 
actually built on time. Soon Pudney & Walp owned 
their own schooners for transporting their stone; 
and before long they had purchased fully one-third 
of the island and began building houses for their 
workmen as well as an immense store for supply- 
ing them with all the necessaries of life. 

The new town grew apace. The quarry grew; 
Pudney & Walp’s bank account grew; and Mrs. 
Walp^s mind expanded in due proportion. The new 
house was not half finished before she had learned 
to despise both her parlor furniture and her organ; 
and off she posted to Boston to buy a new suit and 
a grand piano. In five years from the time she 
landed on the little island, she had utterly forgotten 
that she ever handled a broom or cooked a dinner. 

And the majority of the little Pudney s rose with 
3 


34 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


equal rapidity. With the exception of Emmie, they 
were all under the influence of their aunt; and for 
worlds not one of them would havp revealed that 
they had necessarily passed a large part of their 
youth in washing dishes, churning butter, picking 
up chips, fetching wood from the wood-pile, chasing 
hens out of the vegetable garden, and in picking 
over beans and peas, and stringing apples for drying, 
or that they ever wore calico gowns and gingham 
sun-bonnets. 

In three years from the time Miss Laura made 
her entrance to the island standing in the back of 
the wagon clutching at the seat, her aunt took her 
to Boston and placed her in a fashionable board- 
school; while Master Dick, then aged sixteen, entered 
a classical academy to be prepared for Harvard; 
and Miss Harriet joined her sister the following year, 
leaving at home only little Emmie. 

Mrs. Pudney alone, had no rising qualities. She 
had worn old clothes so many years, it seemed 
wasteful and extravagant to wear anything else; 
and having spent all her life in working, it seemed 
shiftless and lazy to pass her time in idleness. She 
had always taken pleasure in counting out her eggs 
and seeing how many dozen she had to send to 
market, in skimming her milk and gloating on the 
cream- pot getting full, in taking great heaps of 
butter out of the churn, and in setting hens and 
watching for the broods as they hatched out of the 
eggs. She was fond of scouring her milk-pans and 
seeing them reflect the sun like a mirror; she even 
enjoyed scrubbing around the house and seeing 
everything grow white and clean. She liked to 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


35 


darn, and mend, and patch and make over old clothes 
and see an old garment rejuvenated. In short, she 
loved to economize, and save, and contrive, and 
clean ; and now all her pleasures were taken away 
from her. The new house and furniture were so 
grand and costly she never felt at home. Every- 
thing seemed too nice for every-day use. She was 
always worried with the fear of spoiling things. It 
was only out of doors that she could throw off the 
feeling that she was wearing out the furniture using 
it every day. 

A large pavilion had been erected at the bottom 
of the lawn overlooking the sea, and here, in warm 
weather, with little Emmie, she often came with a 
book and sought the composure she could never find 
elsewhere; but there was the ever-present feeling 
that she was idle, slothful and negligent, that she 
ought to be up and doing; and often she would 
start up from her book with the sudden thought, 
flashing upon her mind, that she had forgotten 
something — forgotten to look into the oven at her 
bread, forgotten to put wood into the stove, forgot- 
ten her washing out on the clothes-line, thus heavily 
had care rested upon her mind, thus indelibly had 
it left its imprint upon her consciousness. 

Wealth had also robbed her of her children, sav- 
ing only the youngest ; robbed her not only of their 
conlpanionship which she could have endured for 
their good, but it had robbed her of their hearts. 
The elder children were the disciples and admirers 
of their aunt who was not restrained by any pious 
ideas from ridiculing the mother to her children, at 
least, in private. 


36 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


Mrs. Walp had found it very hard to bear that 
“ Lib” should expose the humble origin of the family 
by wearing” cheap clothes, by not wearing cuffs 
every day, by allusions to her personal experience 
of baking, washing, and ironing, by reminiscences 
of her former life which told of plebeian extraction 
and early poverty, and by showing herself unused 
to ease, grandeur, and stately ceremony, and to the 
attention of servants and the society of the great; 
and whenever any of the children, with juvenile 
awkwardness or innocence, revealed any similar 
ignorance or made any similar blunders or exposure, 
she would exclaim with withering contempt, “You’re 
just like your mother!” to them the most galling 
and scathing reprimand she could utter; so by the 
time they had left home for school they had come 
to regard their mother in the light of the pariah of 
the family, to be like whom was to be utterly con- 
temptible. 

Even Pudney himself made no attempt to conceal 
the fact that he was ashamed of his wife’s “ back- 
wardness,” as he called it. He was as democratic 
as ever. He still believed in the perfect equality 
of all men. He had not yet conceived the idea that 
he was any better than his workmen because he had 
acquired wealth. He had not yet forgotten that he 
had always been a poor man and that his wife and 
children had suffered for the commonest necessaries 
of life. Even when he had his thousands in bank 
he was fond of visiting among the families of the 
men, of making familiar with them; and often he 
would sit with them on their door-steps and tell over 
his earty struggles and how he had come to the 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


37 


island without a cent, how his wife had worked and 
suffered every privation and what destitution his 
children had been born to; but for all this he was 
fond of having* his wealth displayed; and it was a 
•' bitter grievance to him that his wife “ couldn’t rise,” 
as Mrs. Walp called it,— couldn’t take to fine clothes, 
and ease, and grandeur. 

“ Everybody knows I’ve got money,” he would 
say, "and how does it look for my wife to go ’round 
lookin’ so poor! It’s mortifyin’ to me, and it’s 
mortifyin’ to the children. Wouldn’t I be proud to 
see her in a black velvet cltfak like Sue’s ? She’s got 
silk dresses. Why in time can’t she wear ’em ? The 
Lord knows I don’t want to ’sociatewith ’ristocrats; 
but I’d like to let ’em know I’m as good as they are 
and got just as much money.” 

And to all this the poor woman could say nothing 
in self-defense that did not render her all the more 
ridiculous to those whose pride she offended; and 
although Pudney in his heart knew her feelings, 
and could, at times, forgive her, her sister and her 
children became only the more alienated from her 
every day. 

Emmie alone remained unperverted, her mother’s 
own child, her very shadow, and was rapidly devel- 
oping into what they all called a “ queer chick.” 
She was always poring over books, always making 
remarkable observations, always asking extraor- 
dinary questions that nobody about her could answer, 
and day by day grew more and more thoughtful. 

Pudney thought she was growing up in ignorance 
because she had no teacher but her mother who was 
always expressing her regrets that her own educa- 


38 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


tional opportunities had been so limited. His sense 
of justice forbade the neg-lect of one child while the 
others were so well provided for. When the other 
girls came home at vacation time and left French 
novels scattered about the house where there was 
no danger but that everybody would see them, he 
felt a comfortable satisfaction in knowing that his 
“ young ones ” were going to be great scholars; and 
when he opened Dick’s Anabasis (which that young 
scoundrel pretended to know all by heart), not know- 
ing how perfectly easy it is to acquire Greek or any 
other language by just beginning at the beginning 
and going forward step by step and under wise 
guidance, he respected that boy Dick for having a 
bigger head on his shoulders than the father who 
made the money he squandered. So it made his 
heart ache to see Emmie so old-fashioned and devoid 
of ambition, tagging her mother about and refusing 
to be separated from her. Something must be done; 
and when Mrs. Walp proposed a governess, Pudney 
declared it was the very thing. So a governess was 
brought to Seaview; and Emmie at once cleaved 
unto her because she could answer questions. 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


39 


CHAPTER V. 

BEN DODD’S MESSAGE TO PUDNEY & WALP. 

When Puclney & Walp began employing work- 
men in the quarry, among the first brought to the 
island was Benjamin Dodd, a practical stone-cutter, 
married to Mrs. Pudney’s old friend, Betsey Rich. 

The Dodds occupied one of the houses belonging 
to the company, and which, though small, was very 
commodious; for neither Pudney nor Walp, at that 
time, had any doubts of the common humanity and 
perfect equality of their employes to themselves. 
To this house, Mrs. Pudney, left very much alone 
during Emmie’s engagement with her new teacher, 
was wont to repair to escape those feelings of unrest 
which had disturbed her peace since the change in 
her condition of life. Here there was always work 
enough to do; and she always joined in doing it; 
and certainly there was no grandeur here to disturb 
her serenity. 

Betsey Dodd was a wretched little bundle of 
bones with a saffron-colored skin, parched, blue lips, 
large gray-blue eyes at the back of great black 
cavernous depths, and a step so feeble and uncer- 
tain as she went about her work, that you felt, 
every minute, like putting out your hand to keep 
her from falling. She always had herbs steeping 
on the kitchen stove; and often she paused to take 


40 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


great draughts of jet black, vile-smelling decoctions 
which she swallowed like a martyr with only an in- 
voluntary convulsive twitching of the facial muscles 
to prove how nauseous was the dose. When people 
came to see her, she would put her hand on her 
heart and growing a shade paler as she felt its fee- 
ble flutterings, she would totter up and invite her 
visitor to see how it palpitated. 

She always had a knitting-work in her hand 
wherever she vvas or whatever she was doing, her 
great object in life being the utmost possible pro- 
duction of “ sale stockings;” she used the largest 
possible needles and the coarsest possible yarn; and 
people used to say, “ you could shoot peas through 
Betse3 r Dodd’s sale stockings.” She was always 
untidy in her dress, her hair hurriedly pinned into a 
frowzy knot; her house was always in disorder; 
the beds were never made till bedtime; the ironing 
was never over till Saturday midnight; nothing was 
ever mended till it was wanted for use, the poor 
woman always standing over her children and hus- 
band with needle and thread while they were array- 
ing themselves for church; the dishes were never 
washed till they were needed for the table; the 
floors were always swept in a hurry, the dirt being 
left in a heap behind the broom in a corner or swept 
under the stove; and when callers came, the clothes- 
basket, full of unironed clothes, was in the middle 
of the parlor floor; Sunday bonnets and hats were 
on the sofa; Sunday clothes were hanging about on 
chairs; ashes were on the hearth; dust was every- 
where; and conspicuous on the parlor table, were 
great heaps of blue “ sale stockings ; ” and alongside, 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


41 


perhaps, there was a huge wooden bowl of but- 
ter from the last churning, standing unworked as 
it was taken from the churn; while apples and 
tomatoes stood ripening on the parlor window- 
sill. 

Everything was subordinate to the production of 
innumerable sale stockings. All day long the knit- 
ting-work was scarcely ever out of her hands. She 
took it up in the morning as soon as the fire was 
lighted and knit while she fried the pork for break- 
fast and baked the potatoes; and at dinner time she 
went on knitting while she warmed up the baked 
beans or the stewed peas. Any labor that required 
the steady use of two hands stood over till the last 
possible moment. 

And economy kept company with acquisitiveness. 
She skimmed the milk for her husband’s tea and 
coffee, and thrice skimmed it for her children’s sup- 
per of mush and milk. She sent to the neighbors 
to borrow tea, coffee, sugar, flour, and almost every- 
thing else, and always sent back light weight and 
small measure, and cautioned her children to walk 
carefully so that it would not jolt down. She never 
allowed herself milk, sugar, butter, white bread, or 
pie; and no one was allowed to eat too much. The 
Dodd bill of fare was baked beans, stewed peas, fried 
pork, or codfish and potatoes, with an occasional 
festival of corned beef and cabbage, and sometimes 
an indulgence of dried apple sauce, or, as a rarity, 
dried apple pie. 

There were two children, the eldest a very pretty 
girl about the age of Mrs. Pudney’s son Dick, the 
other a boy some years younger; and girl and boy 


42 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


alike were required, in their spare moments, to bea~ 
a hand at the knitting. 

As for her ailments, they were principally due to 
voluntary starvation, overwork, late hours and 
early (she often rose before daylight expressty to 
knit) and a species of self-inflicted misery prohibited 
by the statutes of the state. 

But with all this, Betsey Dodd was a woman of 
a most amiable disposition, unselfish, and self-sac- 
rificing for the benefit of her husband and children, 
and so sensitive to criticism, reproach, and evil 
repute, and so afraid of public opinion, that, while 
she could by no means bring herself to overcome 
those foibles or to resist the commission of those 
acts which evoked evil remark, she passed many 
bitter moments, while her fingers were busy with 
the knitting-work, in worrying about what was said 
of her, particularly writhing under the reputation 
of being “ stingy;” for to be “as mean as Betsey 
Dodd ” was proverbial; and she did everything pos- 
sible to earn the reputation of being open-handed 
and liberal except to be what she desired to have 
the name of being. 

But her virtues and goodness of heart outweighed 
her faults; and for these she possessed Mrs. Pud- 
ney’s affectionate esteem and deepest interest: and 
to the humble abode of her husband's workman, 
where she found plenty of work waiting to be done, 
she came almost daily; and while Mrs. Dodd tot- 
tered around the house after her, looking like a 
walking cadaver, knitting with incredible speed, 
saying at the beginning of each new labor, “ Now, 
Libby, don’t do any more. Don’t you do another 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


43 


thing*, come now, you’ll offend me if you do,” she 
made the beds, dusted the furniture and mantels, 
put the parlor in order, and did everything* else her 
hand found to do. 

She was engaged on the week’s ironing one day 
and simultaneously preparing the noon-day meal 
for the family, when Mr. Dodd presented himself for 
his dinner. 

He was a great hulking six-foot giant who had 
never taken notice that Betsey was ailing and 
seemed to think she drank herb tea as a beverage 
to sharpen her appetite. His usual salutation was, 
“ Hullo, Lib! Wall, Bets, how much work have ye 
got out of Lib to-day, hey? Have ye knit yer stent, 
old woman?” and to his daughter, “ Vest, ye little 
slut, have you earnt yer salt to-day ? ” But on the 
present occasion his greeting was : 

“ Mornin’, Mis’ Pudney. Fine day. Dinner ready, 
Bets ? ” and he seated himself at the table without 
ceremony and without extending his usual hospitable 
invitation to his visitor to “come and take a bite.” 

Mrs. Pudney thought he was only in one of his 
occasional fits of ill-humor; but his wife well knew 
what was brewing; and she had been uncommonly 
solicitous concerning Mrs. Pudney’s labors all day; 
and her voice had been softer and more tender than 
usual when she uttered her oft-repeated, “Now, 
Libby, don’t you do another thing to-day.” 

“Benjy,” she said in softly reproving tones, 
“ seems to me you are forgettin’ yourself. Libby, 
take this seat. Come, Vesta; come Gussie, din- 
ner’s ready. Vesta, dear,” she murmured, as Mrs. 
Pudney seated herself, “pass Mis’ Pudney the 


44 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


beans. I guess your father's in a hurry/' she added 
apologetically as the master of the house continued 
devouring his dinner without noticing their pres- 
ence. “Libby, make yourself to home. Gussie, 
pass Mis' Pudney the brown bread. Vesta, give 
Mis' Pudney some dried apple sauce. I meant to 
have put some raisins in this dried apple sauce. 
Libby, mebbe you'll take a cup of tea. Benjy and 
I never drink tea at dinner. Vesta, get right up 
and make Mis' Pudney a cup of tea, make it good 
and strong/' she added, but turning pale at the 
possibility of being taken at her word. 

“No, no," quickly interrupted Mrs. Pudne^y in 
alarm. “No tea for me, Vesta. I never drink tea 
in the middle of the day." 

“Then, Vesta, make Mis' Pudney a cup of coffee." 

“No, no, don’t you do it. I drink coffee only at 
breakfast." 

Dodd, with a clouded brow, continued to devour 
beans and brown bread in silence and with great 
rapidity, wTiile his wife, in view of what she knew 
to be pending, redoubled her hospitalities to her 
guest. At last, he crossed his knife and fork upon 
his plate, took a long draught of cold water, pushed 
his plate back, and putting his elbows on the table, 
he leaned his chin in his hands and exclaimed in 
harsh, ironical tones as he looked keenly, craftily, 
and pitilessly at Mrs. Pudney : 

“Wall, I hear Pudney's goin' to cut down the 
men's wages again. Is that a fact ? " 

Mrs. Pudney turned pale and sank back in her 
chair gasping: 

“ Why mercy me ! I don't know ! " 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


45 


"Wall,” resumed Dodd in threatening- tones, 
"there'll he hell to pay if he does! " 

" Benjy," murmured Mrs. Dodd, gently, " you 
mustn't get excited." 

" I tell ye, the men hain't agoin' to stand another 
shave," continued Dodd without heeding his wife's 
interruption. “ I tell ye," he cried bringing his fist 
down on the table with a blow that made all the 
dishes rattle, " I tell ye there'll be hell to pay and 
ye kin tell Pudney that from me." 

" Dear me ! I don't know the first thing about it ! " 
protested Mrs. Pudney in tremulous tones. 

" I believe it's only a story," interposed Mrs. 
Dodd, looking steadily into her plate to conceal her 
true opinions. " I can't believe Mr. Pudney would 
be so unjust. You mustn't plague Libby about it. 
There hain't a word of truth in it." 

" He'll be a fool if he does it," continued Dodd 
threateningly. "You kin tell him I say so. He's 
never ben doin' sech a heavy trade sence I came to 
the island. Last week he took on fifty extry hands; 
and he's got a lot of heavy contracts ahead — pressin' 
ones. He'll be a damn fool to cut down the men's 
wages. There'll be hell to pay if he does; and you 
kin tell him I say so ! " 

"Why, you don't think there'd be a strike?" 
hypocritically demanded his wife in softly deprecat- 
ing tones. 

"That's jest what there'll be!" responded Dodd, 
vehemently. 

" I hope not ! " murmured Mrs. Dodd, casting 
down her eyes. 

"Heaven knows I hope not, too!" fervently ejac- 
ulated Mrs. Pudney. 


46 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


“You better hope there wunt be no call for a 
strike!” cried Dodd, wrathily. “Pm the last man 
to want to get up a quarrel with Pudney. Our 
families has always ben friends; but what’s to be 
done? You can’t expect no decent white man to 
stand by and see the bread snatched from his chil- 
len’s mouths. But I spose you think it’s all right. 
Pudney ’s gettin’ rich. Tain’t likely you’re goin’ to 
use your influence for the men.” 

" Ben jy,” cried Mrs. Dodd, again, "you misjudge 
Libby’s feelin’s. I know she’s just. I guess, Libby, 
riches hain’t changed you much.” 

"You understand me perfectly well, Betsey,” re- 
plied Mrs. Pudney as she wiped the silent tears from 
her cheek; "and what little I can do I shall; but I 
am afraid I haven’t much influence where the 
quarry is concerned. Then besides,” she added, " you 
mustn’t blame Daney altogether. Remember Tom 
has something to say; and I know he’s more for 
cutting down the men’s wages than Daney is.” 

"Yes,” cried Dodd with an access of vehemence, 
" and it’s that damned stuckup wife of Walp’s that’s 
at the bottom of it all. Wall,” he continued in a 
loud harsh voice, shaking his hand warningly as he 
rose and left the room, " jest you sa3 r to ’em both 
from Ben Dodd, there’ll be hell to pay if they do 
it!” 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


47 


CHAPTER VI. 

PUDNEY AFRAID TO BE UNJUST. 

When Pudney returned home that day, he was 
surprised to find his wife wearing- a handsome silk 
dress and her watch and chain. 

"Why, hullo w. Lib ! ” he cried with a pleased look, 
" how’s this ? Is the world cornin’ to an end ? ” 

Mrs. Pudney’s pale cheek flushed. 

" Where you goiiT to ? ” he queried in surprise, 
surveying her critically. 

"Nowhere, Daney. ” 

" Where^you ben ? ” 

" Only up to Betsey Dodd’s.” 

" What, in this rig ? ” and he continued to survey 
her with gratification. "You look real bully. Lib. 
I wish you’d fix up this way all the time. That’s 
the way to please me.” 

"No,” replied Mrs. Pudney with candor. "I 
couldn’t wear anything like this, Daney, to go there.” 

Pudney looked disappointed but immediately re- 
joined : 

"Well, then, how’d you come to dress up ? Did 
you do it just for me ? ” 

"Yes, Daney, just for you.” 

Pudney looked at her somewhat mystified but 
greatly pleased, while the color deepened in her 
cheek; but he only laughed pleasantly as he replied : 

"Well, now, I vow! who’d a thought it! And so 


48 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


you’ve ben up to the Dodd’s to-day? ” and he seemed 
to take an unusual interest in her visit to the 
Dodds and wished to lead her on to speak of them* 

" How they cornin’ on ? ” 

" Oh, about as usual, only they are worrying* for 
fear you are going to cut down the men’s wages.” 

"Humph! so they had to talk to you about that, 
did they ? ” 

" Yes, Mr. Dodd spoke of it.” 

"Well, what did he have to say about it?” he 
asked with an effort to appear unconcerned. 

" He seemed to feel,” replied Mrs. Pudney guard- 
edly ; " as if it would not be just.” 

"Wouldn’t be just!” cried Pudney angrily. 
" Damn it ! what does he mean by that ! I guess Pve 
got a right to pay what I see fit and if any man 
doesn’t want to take it, let him quit.” 

"They think you can afTord to continue paying 
what you pay now. They think you are getting 
rich, Daney.” 

" What in hell is that to Ben Dodd ? ” 

" Don’t swear, Daney, you make me shudder.” 

"Hot just!” continued Pudney writhing under 
the imputation of doing an unjust act. "I spose 
they’d think it was just enough if I was to call ’em 
all into the office and divide around all the profits. — 
Well, what more did he have to say ? ” 

"He seemed to think there would be trouble if 
the wages were reduced.” 

" Trouble ! humph ! a strike, I spose ? ” 

"Yes, Daney.” 

"Well, let ’em strike and be damned! There’s 
plenty of fish in the sea ! ” 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


49 


“ O Daney, Daney, be just, be just. Do unto others 
as you would have them do unto you. Remember 
when you were working* in Harris & Payne’s quarry 
when Laura was a baby, how you struck with the 
other men when the wages were reduced, and the3 T 
got other men; and we had to break up housekeep- 
ing and I had to go home to father’s. Were Har- 
ris & Payne just then ?” 

“ Harris & Payne wa’n’t payin’ what we are. 
We’re payin’ out a thousand dollars a day in wages! 
By God ! we can’t stand it ! ” 

“But you’re making a good deal, Dane}^. O 
Daney, I can’t bear the thought of getting richer 
and richer owing to taking the wages from poor 
hard-working men that go home as tired as you 
used to, as you always did up to a few years ago ! 
Think of it! Why are we any better than the 
Dodds, — and we have everything heart can wish, 
and a grand dinner of roast turkey or roast beef 
and everything expensive and luxurious every day 
in the week; and the Dodds, our life-long friends, 
eating peas or beans every day for dinner and fried 
pork for breakfast.” 

“Well, by God! peas and beans are good enough 
for a king! Give me a good pot of baked beans, I 
say, and I don’t want nothin’ more. I’d ruther eat 
baked beans any day than roast turkey. I don’t 
consider it no hardship to eat peas and beans, nor 
fried po’k, neither. Hain’t you and I lived the big- 
gest part of our lives on peas and beans and fried 
po’k ? ” 

“ But people want to lay by a little for a rainy day 
— and for their gld age.” 

4 


50 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


"Well, hain’t the Dodds layin’ by somethin’? 
Dodd had money in bank before I had. He’s gat 
money in bank, now, his savin’s and Betsey’s.” 

"They are very economical. But it isn’t right to 
force any human creature to starve himself one day 
to make sure of having something the next. There 
are not many who could or would pinch and save 
as the Dodds do.” 

" Then let ’em go to hell ! ” 

Mrs. Pudney, with a sigh, passed out upon the 
balcony surrounding the upper story of the house 
and overlooking the sea. Pudney changed his col- 
lar, neck-tie, coat and boots and brushed his hair, 
for Mrs. Walp had a friend or two to dinner, and 
was just complacently surveying the ponderous seal 
and fob suspended from his now capacious stomach 
and the diamonds in his shirt bosom, when his wife, 
looking in, beckoned to him. 

He passed out with an inquiring look, and raising 
his voice above the distant murmur of the waves, 
he cried : "Well, what you want ? ” 

Mrs. Pudney put one hand on his arm, and with 
the other, silently pointed towards the sea. 

" What is it ?” he asked, surveying its entire sur- 
face in every direction. 

" Don’t you remember what you used to say, 
Daney,” she replied, " about the Almighty’s dealing 
like that with the wicked, and hard-hearted, and 
cruel at the Last Great Day? Don’t you remember 
you used to say when you were building this house, 
that you would have to be just to all mankind if you 
lived where you could look out of your window and 
see God in the raging billows every day? ” 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


51 


As she spoke, Pudney stood transfixed, gazing 
out on the treble line of breakers extending far out 
from the shore and the great billows dashing in 
fury on the rocks; his cheek grew pale, his eye 
looked glassy; a visible shudder passed over him. 
At last he spoke in a low solemn voice. 

"And every word that I always said is perfectly 
true! It seems to me I never saw the wrath and 
fury of the Almighty in the ragin’ billows plainer’n 
I see it now! It fairly scares me to think of doin’ 
anything wrong! What a fool I’d be to be hard and 
unjust to my fellow-men for the sake of bein’ a little 
richer, and then be cast into Hell forever! Libby, I 
calc’late to do what’s right.” 

“ Thank God!” 

They clasped each other’s hands fervently and 
stood together looking down upon the heaving sea 
till the bell summoned them to dinner. 

That evening when Mrs. Walp expected Walp to 
inform her that the announcement of the cut down 
had been made, and she almost hoped to hear there 
was going to be a strike (she was fond of excite- 
ment; and she rejoiced in advance with vindictive 
glee over the prospective victory for Pudney & 
Walp, and the defeat, distress, and chagrin of the 
strikers), Walp came home and told her there was 
not going to he any cut down. 

“ What does that mean. I’d like to know ? ” she 
demanded fiercely. 

“ I hardly know myself what it means,” replied 
Walp. “ I don’t know what’s come over Pudney all 
at once. He was determined on a reduction all 
around this morning; and I expected we would 


52 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


announce it to-day; but he was all down on it this 
afternoon, said it would not he just, that the men 
couldn't any more than live decently on what they 
got now, and that every decent man wanted to lay 
by something for his burial if no more. He says 
he's been a poor man himself and he knows what it 
is to dread dying in the poor-house and being buried 
in the potter's field." 

“ Well, I should think Pudney was a fool!" 
screamed the magnificent lady. “ And did you sub- 
mit without a word ? " 

“We had very little discussion about it, as I had 
my reasons for not opposing him. I had learned 
that the men would strike; and that would hurt us 
awfully just now. We've got too many heavy con- 
tracts ahead." 

“ What a sanctimonious old fool Dan Pudney can 
be wdien he's a mind to ! " cried Mrs. W alp con- 
temptuously. At that moment, seeing Pudney on 
the balcony with his wife, she stepped out. 

“ I hear," she cried in a tantalizing voice, “ that 
you're afraid to cut down the men's wages." 

“ You never heard a truer word, Sue," returned 
Pudney earnestly. “ I am afraid of it; and Pm 
sorry it ever got about that we had any thoughts 
of doin' it. It don't look well for a man like me nor 
a man like Tom to be tryin' to cut down workin' 
men's wages. I s'pose Tom told you what I'm cal- 
c’latin' to do ? " 

“He told me you didn't intend cutting down the 
men's wages," replied Mrs. Walp haughtily. “ I don't 
know what further intentions you have unless you 
intend to divide around what you've got among 'em." 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


53 


“No, not exactly," replied Pudney coolly; “but I 
calculate, if God spares my life, to give a thunderin' 
big dinner next week, to all the men, and their 
wives, and children, and their grandchildren and 
their great grandchildren if they've got any, and 
see if they can all get enough to eat for once in their 
lives and show 'em I hain't a hog; " then, as if anx- 
ious to change the subject he exclaimed abruptly, 
“ Sue, don't Libby look stunnin' in this silk gown ? " 
“Very stunning," replied Mrs. Walp satirically. 
“ That basque pattern is four years old." 

“ Why, Lib, why don't you have your clo's made 
in the latest style ? " cried Pudney censoriously. 

“'Twas the latest style when it was made, wasn't 
it, Lib — four years ago ? " and she reentered her 
room, pleased that she had avenged her wrongs by 
having thus “taken Pudney down." 


54 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


CHAPTER VII. 

pudney’s predictions fulfilled. 

Two very graceful, very beautiful, very fashion- 
able young ladies lounged stylishly in velvet arm- 
chairs in the magnificent saloon of a passenger 
steamer that plied between Boston and Winthrop 
Harbor. By their side sat a very beautiful, very 
elegant lady about twenty-eight years of age. 

The two eldest Miss Pudneys were returning from 
school under the charge of their aunt. 

Ten years had passed over their lovbly heads since 
they landed on the island from the dirty little fish- 
ing schooner, Neal Dow ; and they had undergone 
as much change as the island itself. They had be- 
come perfectly accustomed to wearing silk, satin, 
and velvet. They could look at their beautiful 
costly little watches years ago with perfect equanim- 
ity; they could even wear diamonds with dignity 
and self-possession. They had learned, long ago, 
the important distinction between “ common peo- 
ple ” — “ low people ” — “ vulgar people,” “ the laboring- 
classes,” and “ the higher classes”' — people of leisure, 
the aristocracy. They had thoroughly learned the 
essential vulgarity, the meanness, the ignominy, the 
baseness of labor, of waiting upon one’s self, or doing 
anything useful — in fact, they had become perfect 
ladies, lacking, perhaps, “the repose that marks the 
caste of Vere de Vere.” 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


55 


There was one other person in the interesting 
party, — Pudney’s only son and, presumably (at least 
in his own estimation), his principal heir. Unlike 
his lovely sisters, Mr. Dick had not grown in beauty, 
whatever might have been his increase in mental 
stature. The pale golden hair characteristic of his 
mother’s family, was not so becoming to a young 
man with red-rimmed eyes and a bibulous complex- 
ion as to a beautiful, pink-cheeked boy. He had 
not distinguished himself at college for anything 
but incredible escapes from being turned out for 
“ deficiency ” every year; but notwithstanding this, 
which had, in no way, reduced his estimate of him- 
self, he had not only reached the same high plane 
of civilization attained by his sisters, but having 
traveled abroad and seen the world, he was going 
home to laugh people out of some of their old-fash- 
ioned ideas, particularly on the subject of wines and 
liquors. The opinions which he and his boon com- 
panions entertained, he took for granted were the 
opinions of the enlightened portion of mankind; and 
he had but one all-absorbing idea and that was, 
that the Maine Liquor Law ought to be, and must 
of necessity be repealed in a very short time. 

There were great hardships in store for these fine 
young creatures returning home to abide with un- 
congenial spirits — people whom money had no 
power to transform — a father, irreducible to a gen- 
tleman; a mother, without pride, without ambition. 
The gang-plank was no sooner thrown down than 
their afflictions began, when their father and Em- 
mie rushed across to meet them. 

The young ladies greeted them both with a frown, 


56 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


reproved their father, incorrigible as ever, for his 
exuberance and loud tones, and for calling them 
“gals,” and for wearing his gloves in his pocket, 
and rebuked Emmie for wearing her back hair in a 
style already a season out of date, and for main- 
taining her waist in its natural shape. As for their 
mother who sat awaiting them in the carriage, 
having, before setting out for home, nobly resolved 
to bear her infirmities with fortitude, they saluted 
her with magnanimous condescension, kissed her 
formally on the cheek, a semblance of affection as 
they knew, being quite the style, and severely ig- 
nored her eccentricities of dress. 

They would not, however, indulge themselves, in 
the presence of such a father and mother, in those 
graceful familiarities and informalities in which 
they delighted in the society of their equals, but 
deported themselves with the dignity, reserve, and 
ceremony which they always observed under the eye 
of their inferiors, so that their parents were awed 
into awkward constraint and obsequious deference 
by the frigid manners of their distinguished chil- 
dren who had traveled in Europe for the last two 
summers as well as visited all the celebrated sights 
in America. 

The steamer’s pier was within but a few yards of 
the place where they had landed from the Neal 
Dow ten years before; and the street which they 
took for their palatial home, was the once rough, 
stony road through which they had lumbered to the 
little shanty that was then their destined abode. 
But how changed was everything! Then there was 
nothing to be seen as far as the eye could reach, 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


57 


but an uninhabited, barren stretch of hilly, rocky 
soil and one or two fishermen's hovels along* the 
entire road; now a fine town covered the barren 
hills; wide, well-paved streets intersected that old 
road in every direction; in place of melancholy gray 
bowlders of granite, more than three hundred neat 
dwellings for workingmen surrounded the quarry; 
and, crowning the summit of every hill, were hand- 
some mansions and lordly palaces overlooking the 
sea. From the harbor to the quarry, one long 
street was a continuous line of stores (of which that 
of Pudney & Walp was the largest), factories, mills, 
and business houses of every description. It was 
a town of about ten thousand inhabitants with 
churches of all the leading denominations, graded 
schools with fine commodious school-buildings, sev- 
eral very ambitious public halls, a beautiful public 
park, a race course, several handsome summer hotels, 
many beautiful summer residences belonging to 
wealthy people of New York, Philadelphia, Balti- 
more and other large cities, several banks, several 
daily and weekly newspapers, and, finally several 
castles, all of which had been brought into life by 
the Pudney & Walp Granite Works, which was now 
what Pudney had predicted, the largest and most 
successful granite quarry in the country if not in 
the world, employing continually more than five 
hundred stone-cutters and laborers. 

When they began employing men there was not 
a store on the island to supply them with the com- 
monest necessaries of life, all hands being compelled 
to go in a row-boat across the bay to the mainland 
for the purchase of a pinch of tea or a yard of calico; 


58 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


and Pudney & Walp themselves, entirely as a mat- 
ter of accommodation, opened a store for the sup- 
ply of general merchandise; and this had grown 
and expanded to enormous proportions and was now 
the leading store in the place, the company pur- 
chasing over three hundred thousand dollars’ worth 
of goods annually. 

“ Can you remember, gals,” said Pudney as they 
reached the summit of a hill from which there was 
a fine view of the town in every direction, “ can you 
remember how this island looked the first time you 
rode over this hill ? You can, I guess, Laura. You 
was ’leven years old then. You can remember, too, 
Dick. You was thirteen. Some difference, hain’t 
there, gals ? ” 

Dick drawlingly answered “ Yes ” with obliging 
condescension; and the young ladies faintly mur- 
mured the same accommodating monos3 r liable with 
a frigidity tending to discourage further conversa- 
tion on that subject if not on any other; but their 
father, though vaguely feeling their lack of interest 
in the matter, obtusely continued. 

“ I guess you can remember the joltin’ you got, 
too, on that rocky road in your Uncle Tom’s old 
buggy. Do you remember that ride, gals ? You 
ought to, Laura. You came near pitchin’ out be- 
hind lots o’ times; and 3mm* mother just ketched ye 
before you fell. I like to think about them old 
times. Some difference between this dashin’ span 
o’ hosses and your Uncle Tommy’s poor old mare. 
You can remember that old mare — Pl^vllis, her 
name was. Don’t ye, though! Well, I declare! I 
thought to be sure 3mu would remember Phyllis, 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


59 


You drove her to the cove once, yourself, Laura, to 
carry six dozen eggs and a kag o’ butter up to 
Cap’n Parker for him to take along with him to 
Deer Isle to sell for your mother. What! you don’t 
remember that! ” 

" I have not the faintest recollection of it,” loftily 
and freezingly returned Miss Laura. 

" Well, I declare! and we was all so worried you 
was gone so long; and you was as mad as a hatter 
at the idea that you wasn’t capable of takin’ care 
of yourself and the old mare, too. Well! well! I 
thought you’d recollect that! But I ’spect you’ve 
studied so much it’s put all such things out o’ your 
heads.” Oh, how the young ladies longed for the 
society of congenial people — people born rich, with 
no plebeian reminiscences ! “ Now look, gals, look ! ” 

cried their father, as they reached the top of another 
steep hill, "there’s your Aunt Sue’s castle — Mis’ 
Walp’s castle as folks call it. You can just see the 
top.” 

"You know perfectly well,” cried the owner of the 
fine piece of property they were all gazing at, " that 
nothing makes me so indignant as to have any one 
call Absequam ‘ Mrs. Walp’s castle.’” 

" Well, Absequam, then,” amended Pudney, laugh- 
ing maliciously. "You can just see the top, gals; 
and it’s quite a castle, too, though ’tain’t up to the 
duke’s by a long chalk.” 

Mrs. Walp frowned at this latter reflection, it 
being the sorrow of her life that her castle, was, 
indeed, not " up to the duke’s,” of which Pudney, 
through having been inconvenienced by Walp’s 
withdrawing so much money from the business 


60 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


for its erection, took every opportunity to remind 
her. 

The young- ladies were interested in the castle 
and sat up in the carriage to gaze upon it; for it 
was not finished on the occasion of their last visit 
home. They were very aesthetic, and entered into 
conversation with their aunt on the style and beauty 
of its architecture as visible at that distance, and 
its commanding situation on a bluff second in ele- 
vation only to that whereon stood the duke’s, talk- 
ing over the heads of their parents without even 
glancing at them. 

“ I guess you can remember, gals,” at last inter- 
rupted their father as they descended the hilly“ who 
used to live there?” He pointed to a little frame 
shanty, standing embowered amongst numerous 
vines and shrubs in the centre of a fine block of houses. 
“I hain’t never goin’ to sell that lot; I don’t care 
what I’m offered ; and I hain’t never goin’ to tear 
that shanty down. Any time,” he continued laugh- 
ingly, “ any o’ you young ones gets to puttin’ on 
airs, I’m agoin’ to take ye down here and give ye a 
lickin’ and tie ye up in the kitchen where ye et your 
victuals for nigh on to two years! Haw! haw! 
haw! Everybody in this town knows where the 
Pudneys and the Walps used to live before they 
struck ile; so it’s no use for any of ye to put on 
any airs. Every body knows we came off the dung- 
heap ! Haw ! haw ! haw ! ” and he took the liberty 
of poking the young ladies in the ribs with his gold- 
headed cane, which gross indignity they received 
with stern faces; and leaning languidly back amidst 
the luxurious cushions, they fixed their gaze 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


61 


steadily on the ears of the prancing- steeds drawing 
the magnificent carriage, without apparently hear- 
ing a word their father uttered; but Mrs. Walp’s 
eyes flashed fire. She had threatened to burn the 
shanty down; and she had poured out her soul on 
the subject in many a long and fiery letter to her 
nieces. 

“ I don’t think the cottage looks much as it did 
when we lived there/’ cried Emmie as the carriage 
rolled by the door. “ I planted those morning-glo- 
ries and honeysuckles myself two years ago — since 
you were home last.” 

“ Yes, you little trollop! ” cried her father fondly, 
“ I’d ought to given you a lickin’ for that! ” 

“ But it looks so picturesque ! ” cried the young 
girl. “ I’ve made a sketch of it in oil,” she said, 
addressing her brother and sisters. “ You will see 
it in your room, Laura.” 

"Oh, thank you, you are very considerate ! ” re- 
plied Laura with a faint attempt at sarcasm. 

“ It’s a capital thing! ” cried their father warmly. 
“ I’ve had the opinions of three artists on it, and 
they all said it was good enough to sell. I’ve had 
a fifty-dollar frame put on it. That little jade could 
earn her livin’ paintin’ pictures if she was obliged 
to. It’s the truest paintin’ I ever see. You can 
even see the corner of your mother’s old hen-house; 
and through the open winder jmu can see the sink 
where you young ones used to wash the dishes. I 
can almost imagine I can see one of ye as you used 
to look then in your calico tyers standin’ there, you, 
Laura, wasliin’ the dishes and scrapin’ pots and kit- 
tles, and you, Hat, wipin’ ’em. I tell ye, Em, you’d 


62 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


ought to put Laura in scrapin’ out a sarse-pan, and 
Hat washin’ down the stove, or somethin’.” 

By this time the carriage (oh, how opulent it looked 
with its gleaming harness, its shining panels, and 
the two sleek, spirited horses !), the elegant carriage, 
with its load of beauty had reached the great gates 
at the foot of the hill whereon stood the noble pal- 
ace that had sprung from out of Pudney’s enter- 
prise, industry, and perseverance; and the perse- 
cuted young ladies from the Boston boarding-school, 
began to breathe more freely. 

During the entire drive, Mrs. Pudney had sat 
almost in perfect silence, her heart too full for 
speech. Unconsciously her mind reverted to the 
events of twenty-three years ago, twenty-one years 
ago, nineteen years ago, when these returning 
youths first saw the light. She was thinking of their 
infancy, of their prattling childhood, of their early 
youth. She was thinking of the sleepless nights 
they had cost her, of the labor, the care, the anxiety 
she had bestowed upon them. She was thinking 
how precious they had been to her, with what alarm 
she had watched over them in all their ailments, 
with what terror she had confronted the possibility 
of losing one; and thinking of all this, and feeling 
that they scarcely seemed to own her mother, she 
found no words to utter, no voice for speech, and 
ever and anon, a tear, wiped hastily away, stole 
down her cheek. 

Pudney at last, though accustomed to her neu- 
trality and silence, observing her saddened looks, 
cried out: 

“ I say, Lib, looks to me as if you wasn’t very 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


G3 


glad to have the young- ones home! You set there 
lookin' as g-lum as an owl! Why don't ye talk ?" 

She was spared the effort of a reply. The young- 
ladies, ignoring- her existence equally with their 
father's remark, began an animated discussion of 
the various additions to the lawn statuary and 
shrubbery since their last return; and thus the car- 
riage reached the door. 

Mrs. Walp, no longer a member of the Pudney 
household, kissed her nieces an affectionate good- 
by, and entering her own carriage which awaited 
her, proceeded forthwith to Absequam, promising 
to come over early on the morrow to arrange what 
she -called “ the campaign." 


04 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THE AFFLICTIONS OF THE TWO MISS PUDNEYS. 

Without doubt the two Miss Pudneys felt like 
discharging- both of their parents. Their father’s 
homespun manners, his uncouth speech, and his de- 
grading sentiments, utterly disqualified him for the 
position of father to two aspiring young ladies. As 
for their mother, they had heard of her goings on 
through their aunt — how she went around among 
the stone-cutters, taking care of the sick, and work- 
ing for Betsey Dodd, exposing her plebeian origin ; 
while her personal appearance, in cheap alpacas and 
merinos, was such that, beyond question, it was hu- 
miliating to be known as her daughters; and yet, 
did she but choose to wear silks and put some style 
and pride into her carriage, she might make a very 
handsome, stately mother, far superior to some of 
the coarse-featured, flabby-cheeked mammas they 
had seen when visiting their schoolmates. 

But neither of their parents was such a menace 
to their dignity as their younger sister, who 
promptly developed into the terror of their lives. 
They were far from being pleased with her at the 
outset, she was so old-fashioned, so straightforward, 
and so inconveniently candid and truthful. But 
they soon found themselves obliged to stand in mor- 
tal fear of the despised simple one. She was still 
passionately bent on obtaining knowledge, had the 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


65 


same inquiring- mind as of old, and took it for 
granted her elder sisters had come home unfathom- 
able depths of learning whence she innocently 
" sought to drink wisdom, continually plying them 
with questions which they were utterly unable to 
answer till they were beside themselves with sub- 
terfuges to conceal their ignorance. Then she had 
a very animated and frisky French governess. 
Mademoiselle Revilliers, who could speak no Eng- 
lish, while the two Miss Pudneys, despite the big 
bills their father had annually paid to Madame 
Torquille, could speak no French. The French 
woman and her pupil were inseparable companions 
and were always chattering like two magpies, never 
a word of which could the two eldest Miss Pudneys 
understand; but they sought to cover their ignor- 
ance by an affected contempt for the governess as 
if disdaining to converse with her or even to make 
one response to her most civil observation, severely 
reprimanding their sister for bringing her into their 
presence. 

When they came to unpack their trunks, Emmie 
hung over them to see what products of their skill 
and industry they had brought home; but the}" had 
no drawings and no paintings to show, no art work 
of any kind; while her own room was a perfect mu- 
seum of art, everything being the product of her 
own genius and skill; and almost every part of the 
house contained some effort of her pencil or brush; 
and after once hearing her perform on the piano, 
the harp, and the organ, they always took care that 
she was not about before exhibiting their own mu- 
sical education. 

5 


66 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


They were walking* together on the piazza, one 
morning, discussing their incorrigible parents, their 
irrepressible sister, the ubiquitous French woman, 
and gazing mournfully upon the decent and respec- 
table sea which was as fashionable as heart could 
wish. 

“ Nothing could be grander than this view! ” cried 
Miss Pudney when they had thoroughly discussed 
their grievances. 

“ Nothing! ” warmly affirmed Miss Harriet. 

“ And the house and grounds are superb ! ” con- 
tinued Miss Pudney. 

“ Perfectly lovely ! Any one might be proud to 
live here ! ” returned Miss Harriet. 

“ But what a shame it is all spoilt by such uncon- 
genial people ! ” 

“ Yes! ” sighed Miss Harriet. 

At this moment a large-boned, robust, red-cheeked 
female, perhaps twenty-eight or thirty years of age, 
one of Pudney’s “ hired girls,” as he called them, 
came up the broad high steps from the ground, car- 
rying a broom in her hand. The young ladies had 
seen her the Sunday before going to church in a 
green dress, red ribbons, and a bonnet that was a 
perfect garden of pinks, violets and blue roses; and 
they hence, and for some other reasons, esteemed 
her a worthless person, quite beneath all respect. 
She was a farmer’s daughter from one of the inland 
towns of the State and had every appearance of 
being well-fed, comfortably clad, and perfectly con- 
tented with her lot in life. She had known the 
Pudneys ever since she was born, having come from 
the same section of the country; for it was a prin- 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


67 


ciple with Pudney to which he rigidly adhered, to 
'employ no stranger either in his house, garden, 
stable, office, or even in the store or quarry when 
an old acquaintance, equally capable, stood in need 
of a place. With old friends as cooks, chamber- 
maids and waiters, Pudney would go about the house, 
or sit at the table, and talk over old times and tell 
jokes and look at the old friends behind his back, 
smiling- and laughing-, and making remarks for 
their benefit, and drag them into the conversation 
while they were changing the courses or otherwise 
faithfully endeavoring to earn their w r ages. 

All this the young ladies had determined to re- 
form. Servants w r ere henceforth to be kept at a 
distance and taught their places. They knew that 
the girl coming up the steps was Lydia Jewell and 
that she had yet to learn that any one in this world 
esteemed her an inferior being for working at 
Pudney's. She came up with the air and mien of a 
peer and a freeman; and seeing the young ladies, 
she sang out good naturedty, but with the look of 
reserve and deference which she always accorded 
strangers and people whom she had not seen for a 
long time : 

“Oh, hullow, girls! you here? I was gonT to 
sweep the pyazza, but no matter! I hahTt in any 
particular hurry. You set still. Pm tired, any- 
way, and I guess I can spare a minute to rest. Fve 
got my work most done;” and dropping into one 
of the large, artistic armchairs with which the 
piazza was plentifully supplied, her broom across 
her lap, she began to talk. 

“ Hain’t it pleasant here ? I can't never get done 


68 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


lookin’ at the ocean. Wall, I spose you girls are 
glad you’re back home. You must ’a’ got dreadful 
tired bein’ at school so long. Seven years, wasn’t 
it? How time flies! ” 

The two Miss Pudneys wanted very much to main- 
tain their dignity and assert their claims to superi- 
ority, and let Miss Jewell understand, once and for 
all, that she should not speak to her superiors till 
they spoke to her, and above all things, to impress 
upon her mind the true status of a servant; but 
they lacked that real superiority of character with- 
out which it is impossible to gain any ascendency 
over one’s fellow- beings. 

They rose; they stared at the girl; they tossed 
their heads; they looked fierce; they half turned 
their backs upon her, and gazing over their shoul- 
ders they glared again; they trembled with passion 
and the color came into their cheeks; but they only 
succeeded in making Miss Jewell understand that 
they looked down upon her and would have nothing 
to do with her. At this she neither quailed nor 
blushed, but went right on talking, changing only 
the tenor of her remarks with the change in her 
feelings. 

“How time flies! It seems only just yesterday 
your father was working for Harris & Payne and 
livin’ m that little hut of Mose Blake’s near our 
house; and you girls used to come over to our 
orchard and knock off apples for your mother to 
make apple sauce; and you used to hunt eggs for 
mother; and mother, she used to give you some for 
your mother to make a custard. I guess you wunt 
never forget that time you fell off the haymow in 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


69 


our barn. Laura. You were seven years old then, 
I remember; and I lugged you out o’ the barn and 
put you under the pump and pumped water on you. 
I thought you’d never come to. How scart I was! 
And what a long time you were sick. Your head 
was shaved and your poor father and mother was 
afraid you’d be simple; but I guess you hain’t. 
Seems queer how quick your father got rich! He’s 
ben awful lucky; but then he’s smart; there’s no 
use sayin’ it was all luck; and your father’s a good 
man. He never looks down on anybody, for all he’s 
so rich.” 

By this time Miss Pudney had, in a measure, re- 
covered her presence of mind; and turning savagely 
upon Miss Jewell she cried out: 

“ Will you leave this piazza ? ” 

“ No, I will not, Laura Pudney! ” replied the girl 
stoutly. “ Pm as good as you are Pll let you know ! 
I came here to sweep and Pm gom’ to do it,” and so 
saying she began sweeping with vehemence, throw- 
ing up great clouds of dust over their sacred per- 
sons. 

The Miss Pudneys were determined to stand their 
ground and beat off the enemy. Retreat was m- 
famj r . They therefore commanded her to stop this 
instant, to leave their presence immediately; and 
all the time Miss Jewell kept on furiously sweeping 
till the two elegant young ladies were strangling 
and red-eyed with the dust. Miss Jewell was not 
to be coerced; but gasping for breath, they told 
her she was nothing but a servant, that their father 
should hear of this, that she was a saucy insolent 
creature; and then the} r fled to their room. 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


70 


They had scarcely departed when Pudney made 
his appearance. 

Miss Jewell was in a high state of excitement. 

“ Mr. Pudney ,” she exclaimed out of breath and 
her eyes flashing* fire, “PH have to go home! I 
can’t stay here and take sarse from Laura and 
Hattie.” 

" Why, what’s the row ? ” cried Pudney. 

It was a rule with Pudney to hear but one side of 
a story. He formed his opinion on the instant, and 
once formed, any statement inconsistent therewith, 
proving his judgment erroneous, he looked upon as 
a personal affront. 

But Miss Jewell, leaning on her broom, amidst 
sobs and tears, gave a tolerably correct version of 
the story, omitting only the malice and vindictive- 
ness underlying her allusions to his former condi- 
tion and the spitefulness which she threw into her 
broom handle. 

“ Hain’t I got a right to set down on the pyazza? ” 
she demanded with streaming eyes and blazing 
cheeks. 

“ Well, by God, I guess you have! ” returned 
Pudney greatly excited by the girl’s tears and sobs. 
“ Damn it! I’ll see if you haven’t! ” 

“ Have those girls got any right to call me a ser- 
vant? ” went on Miss Jewell, hysterically. 

“ No, by God they hain’t,” returned Pudney in hot 
wrath. “ I wunt have no such actions in my house,” 
and he strode off to find his daughters. 

When the young ladies fled around the corner of 
the piazza from Miss Jewell’s wrath, they rushed 
into the arms of their sympathetic aunt whose car- 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


71 


Hage stood at the foot of the steps. She had just 
arrived from Absequam to conclude arrangements 
• ' for the “ campaign/’ and seeing the plight of her 
excited nieces, she repaired with them immediately 
to their room to discuss the situation. Pudney did 
not make his appearance on the scene till some time 
later. When he left Miss Jewell he designed drag- 
ging his daughters forth to go down on their knees 
before that insulted damsel and ask her pardon; 
but as he neared their presence, the awe with which 
their fashionable manners and frigid reserve had in- 
spired him, momentarily neutralized his wrath; and 
he turned aside into another part of the house and 
smoked a cigar. When he emerged again he had 
resolved upon moral suasion. 

By this time the affair had been thoroughly dis- 
cussed in the seclusion of the young ladies’ dormi- 
tory and a course of action agreed upon. 

It happened that Miss Laura wanted a diamond 
necklace ; and Miss Harriet was equally in distress 
for a certain diamond aigrette which she had seen 
at the jeweler’s; and both of them wanted a saddle 
horse and a pair of ponies; while Mrs. Walp wanted 
a liberal appropriation for the coming campaign— 
a series of festivities designed to possess unparalleled 
magnificence for the introduction of the young ladies 
into society. 

When, therefore, Pudney entered the presence of 
his distinguished daughters, he was surprised to 
find no evidence whatever of their combat with 
Lydia Jewell. Not only were they unruffled hut 
smiling and merry and overwhelmed him with hos- 
pitalities and honors. Miss Laura vacated an arm- 


72 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


chair for his comfort; Miss Harriet brought him a 
footstool; and they both offered him a fan and told 
him he looked tired and warm, and finished him 
up by calling him “ papa ” in the fondest accents' 
while Mrs. Walp solicitous^ 7 inquired after his gout. 

He entered into general conversation; and al- 
though he by no means forgot Miss Jewell and her 
wrongs, and his conscience accused him of forsak- 
ing his principles, he found himself unable to get 
around to the subject in a dignified and effective 
manner. At last, with an embarrassed cough, he 
broke out abruptly beginning with an attempt at a 
frown and ending with a snicker. 

“ Look a here, you gals, what 3 r ou ben sayin’ to 
Lyddy Jewell ? She’s ben takin’ on to me. I — I 
don’t like any thing like that, you know. I like to 
have everybody in my house treated right, you 
know.” 

Both of the young ladies affected to have great 
difficulty in remembering Lydia Jewell or anything 
about her. At last Miss Laura experienced a sud- 
den revival of memory. 

“ Oh, I think papa means that girl who was sweep- 
ing the piazza and covered us all over with dust. 
She was very impertinent, papa, when we asked her 
to stop.” 

Nothing overawed Pudney like having his distin- 
guished daughters call him “ papa,”— an importa- 
tion from Madame Torquille’s, rarely in the mouths 
of New England children even in their lisping child- 
hood. 

“ I shouldn’t ’a’ thought that of Lyddy Jewell,” 
he responded weakly. “ She’s generally a very 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


73 


clever critter, unless,” he added hesitatingly, "" un- 
less you said something to aggravate her. She 
,, says you called her a "servant/” he added with a 
tameness of which, considering the magnitude of 
the offense as he viewed it, he was heartily ashamed. 

“ I said,” replied Miss Laura cautiously, thinking 
of the diamonds she was suffering for, and the saddle 
horse and ponies without which she thought life not 
worth living, ""I said papa would certainly not per- 
mit a servant to sweep dust all over us. You know 
Madame Torquille,” she hastened to add, ""would 
have given us a demerit mark if we had called a 
servant a hired girl. She never permitted the 
term.” 

"" Madame Torquille is a damned Mstocrat; and I 
was a fool to send you to her,” hurst forth Pudney, 
glad at last, of the opportunity, without quarreling 
directty with his daughters, of rising above the hu- 
miliation of suppressing his feelings any longer. 
"" I wunt have such language used in my house. 
L}fddy Jewell is as good as I am; and I wunt have 
nobody imposed upon nor looked down upon. I 
want you to remember it.” 

He spoke in earnest, but subdued tones; and his 
evident anxiety to remain on amicable terms with 
them, emboldened them to say a word on behalf 
of a dearly cherished project. 

"" Of course,” began Miss Laura, rather unguard- 
edly, "" any one like Lydia Jewell who has always 
known us would expect to be treated as an equal. 
I do wish, papa, we could keep only colored servants 
like Aunt Sue. That's the only kind you can keep 
under here in Maine.” 


74 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


“ Yes,” eagerly interposed Miss Harriet, before 
her father could recover his senses, “colored ser- 
vants always know their place and keep in it, don’t 
they. Aunt Sue ? ” 

“Well by God ! ” cried Pudney, paling* with wrath, 
the spell that had held him in awe completely dis- 
solved, “ I’d like to know what you mean b} r keepin’ 
their place and keepin’ under! Didn’t I tell you I 
wouldn’t have the word servant used in my house ? 
As for havin’ niggers around, nobody but a damned 
upstart off the dungheap, wants anybody to work 
for ’em that don’t respect himself enough to think 
he’s as good as anybody. Any man, black or white, 
that looks down on himself, I say, and thinks it’s 
all right for other folks to look down on him, hain’t 
worth the pains God Almighty took to make him. 
I don’t want no man or no woman to feel himself 
beneath me because he has to work. Talk about 
keepin’ their place — it’s everybody’s place to do 
what they are paid for and do it right; and when 
they’ve done it, they’ve got just as much right to 
hold up their heads and stand up for themselves as 
anybody that don’t have to work. There hain’t 
nothin’ about honest work that’s disgraceful or de- 
gradin’; and if there was, you might look down on 
your own father, and your own mother, too.” 

“Well, we do! ” thought the young ladies in their 
hearts. 

“ By mighty ! ” he went on, “ I can’t get over it ! 
How children of mine should set up to be better 
than Lyddy Jewell! Her father owned as nice a 
farm as there is in the whole State of Maine when 
I hadn’t a decent pair of boots to my feet; and your 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


75 


mother hadn’t no bonnet to wear to meetin’ when 
Elder Webber came there to our place to preach. 

, But I don’t say as you’re any the worse for that. 
But I do say, if you hain’t any the worse for that, 
you hain’t any better because your father has made 
money since. Now when you see Lyddy Jewell 
again, you treat her with respect and keep a civil 
tongue in your heads.” 

The two Miss Pudneys were very much enraged 
at this — to be told to treat a servant with respect, 
but bitterest of all, to think he had talked to Lydia 
Jewell in the same strain. They wanted to order 
him out of their sight, to cut his acquaintance for- 
ever; they wanted to tell him how they despised 
him; how they looked down upon him; and when 
he asked if they considered themselves better than 
their father, they wanted to cry, “ Yes! yes! a 
thousand times yes ! ” but they wanted other wants; 
and he was, at least, good for drawing checks if he 
was kept in the humor; and they philosophically 
reflected that “ there was no use minding him;” 
and as he ended and left them again to their aunt, 
they contented themselves with shaking their beau- 
tiful little white fists at the door that closed upon 
him, and looked to their aunt for counsel and sym- 
pathy. 

Mrs. Walp listened till the sound of his footsteps 
died out and then she exclaimed : 

“Now, girls, learn from this, one valuable lesson 
— never issue a command that you can’t enforce; 
never threaten when you can’t execute ; never assert 
superiority unless you can maintain it. Now, dears, 
you’ll have to be first-class little hypocrites or else 


76 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


all my plans will miscarry. But now all this time 
you don't know what a world of news I have for 
you ; " and the two girls listened in astonished de- 
light while their aunt rapturously communicated her 
great good fortune. She had, at last, she told them, 
after all these long weary years, achieved the great- 
est social triumph ever known. Would they believe 
it! She could scarcely credit it herself, — the duke 
was coming to her party ! She couldn’t believe it 
till she went to see Dr. Houghton who assured her 
the note of acceptance was in the duke's own hand- 
writing. 

“ For almost nine years," she w T ent on excitedly, 
“he has lived on this island and not spoken to one 
human being outside of his own granite walls. For 
two years I attended his chapel faithfully ; and not 
once did he ever turn those magnificent great sad 
eyes upon me! I cannot conceive to what I owe 
this honor," she ran on, “ unless," she paused and 
looked meditatively at her beautiful nieces. “ I 
watched him very closely last Sunday to see if he 
looked at either of you, my beautiful darlings— but 
; — perhaps he can see a charming woman without 
looking at her." 

The two beautiful nieces received her flattering 
innuendoes with becoming dignity, as taught by 
Madame Torcjuille, and without any perceptible 
emotion. 

“I can't help thinking," continued their aunt, 
“ that it is that." 

She gazed long and earnestly at the two beauties 
before her. They were very lovely. They were 
stately, self-possessed, and beautiful— not pretty. 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


77 


but statuesquely beautiful. Laura, especially, was 
queenly in her beauty; and her form was worthy of 
her face, full of dignity, grace, and symmetry. 

“Yes,” resumed Mrs. Walp; “the duke must be 
struck at last ! Oh, to marry one of you to the Duke 
of Hurlborough ! Which one of you will have him ? ” 

“ Well, you may rest assured I won’t,” cried Laura, 
promptly. “ I don’t think I need marry a hunch- 
back, if he is a duke.” 

“O Laura!” cried her aunt in tones of intense 
amazement and dismay. “ Did I ever hear such 
suicidal perversity ! ” 

“ That’s just Laura ! ” cried Harriet with an air 
of superior worldly wisdom. 

“Oh, I would like very well to have him ask me,” 
returned Laura with a wicked gleam in her e} 7 e and 
a portentous smile playing around her beautiful lips. 

“ And 3 7 ou would refuse him ! ” cried her aunt in 
accents of deepening amazement. 

“ I should ; I certainly should, my dearest aunt. 
You will never see me the Duchess of Hurlborough; 
but he’s got a heavenly face; and I wouldn’t mind 
winning his heart ! ” 

“You beautiful wretch!” cried her aunt; and 
turning to the other she asked : “ And you, Hat ?” 

“ Ah ! never fear I would refuse that lordly castle, 
that princely estate, that august title!” cried the 
young girl. “I would rather marry that crabbed 
old hunchback almost old enough to be my father, 
than the most elegant Apollo that ever lived!” 

“Well!” cried her aunt with satisfaction, “I am 
truly thankful to see there is some sense in the 
family!” 


78 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


CHAPTER IX. 

THE HERMIT OF WINTHROP HARBOR. 

At the southern extremity of Winthrop Harbor, 
the ocean currents, winds, waves, and frosts, have 
wrought out of the solid granite foundation of the 
island a weird, fantastic, and dangerous headland, 
long known to mariners as the Devil’s Jaws — a huge 
pile of jagged, shapeless rocks at the ocean’s level, 
bare at ebb tide and never fully covered, and, over- 
hanging these, some twenty feet above, a broad 
shelving rock, deeply serrated on the under side, 
and towering aloft a hundred feet above the sea, 
and extending some three or four hundred yards out- 
ward over the foaming billows raging below. Into 
this yawning cavern, the sea, at high tide, rushes 
with fearful velocity, breaking with terrific force 
and with strange, wild sounds like the shrieks of 
millions of lost spirits — despairing, agonized, fren- 
zied shrieks, that might have inspired Dante’s In- 
ferno; and the white foam whirls and eddies through 
the air like a dance of demons, giving to the head- 
land a remarkable resemblance to the extended jaws 
of some gigantic, maddened beast, frothing and bel- 
lowing with rage and pain. 

Upon the upper rock or “ jaw,” a solitary horse- 
man drew rein one day and thoughtfully surveyed 
the scene. He was looking for a hermitage. The 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


79 


island was then the abode only of a few fishermen 
and sailors and the two enterprising* quarrymen at 
the other end. After a few moments’ contempla- 
tion of earth, and sky, and ocean, he seemed highly 
satisfied with the position. Turn whithersoever he 
mighfc, not a human habitation met the eye; not a 
human being was visible anywhere; before him 
stretched a limitless expanse of sea with not even a 
sail to remind the beholder of humanity; behind, 
the barren, rocky, desert hills; above, a peaceful, 
cloudless sky where screaming white sea-gulls, 
swimming through the marvelously blue heavens, 
alone shared his solitude. 

Dismounting, he carefully made his way down over 
the precipitous rocks to the sea level. The tide was 
out; and he soon stood alongside the cavern of the 
Devil’s Jaws. 

It required nerve to enter. It was slippery, gloomy, 
and dismal, full of rumbling, unearthly noises, 
and of deep, dark niches and unexpected nooks and 
crannies; and the wet slimy rocks were covered 
with masses of dank sea-weed, amidst which curious 
crustaceans — hideous, uncanny things, black and 
diabolical, crawled with slow uncertain movements; 
while from the broken and jagged rock overhead, 
long festoons of dripping sea-weed hung downward. 

Entering the cave, the stranger explored it with 
avidity; and finally, seating himself on the top of a 
giant bowlder near the centre, he gazed out upon the 
sea. Solitude more profound could scarcely be 
imagined. 

The tide turned before he moved again; and its 
swift inrush upon the rocks, filling the cavern with 


80 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


wild, unearthly sounds, enough to appall the stoutest 
heart, warned him to make his retreat. 

Keturning to his horse, he rode along the shore 
in every direction for several miles without meeting 
one solitary human creature. To all appearances, 
the island was not only almost uninhabited, but un- 
inhabitable. With no industries besides the little 
quarry worked by two poor men, and the feeble 
endeavors of a few spiritless individuals to eke out 
an existence by fishing, no spot on earth seemed less 
capable of inviting or sustaining a population; and 
the stranger decided to abide here. Before long the 
news went forth that Captain Clark of Deer Isle had 
sold the thousand acres of land he owned at the 
Devil’s Jaws, that the purchaser was an English- 
man and a duke, that a castle was to be built on the 
upper jaw and a chapel on the purchase; and 
Pudney & Walp had the contract for supplying the 
stone. 

A frame house, as a temporary dwelling, was 
built near the site selected for the castle; and here 
the hermit took up his abode till the castle was fin- 
ished. By that time, Seaview was built; and Win- 
throp Harbor had a population upwards of two 
thousand souls; and the duke manifested his uneasi- 
ness by enclosing his entire purchase with a granite 
wall ten feet high. The chapel was built at the 
entrance to the grounds and was thrown open to 
the public. An English chaplain, salaried b}^ the 
duke, officiated; and about the only glimpse ever 
obtained of the recluse was what was seen of him at 
the services which he attended punctually and reg- 
ularly. He gave money freely and munificently 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


81 


through his chaplain in response to all solicitations 
for charitable or public purposes; but this was the 
only part he took in the social life of the place. He 
kept a large retinue of English lackeys, and with 
these he dwelt in his vast castle alone. Nothing 
was known of him excepting the little gossip that 
leaked out through the servants of his household; 
but of this very little was authenticated excepting 
that he was extremely rich; and that the castle 
was finished and adorned at a fabulous expense. 
No woman was tolerated within the enclosure; and 
no visitor of an} T kind but the chaplain, and, a few 
times, a physician for one of the servants, had ever 
gained admittance within the great gates that were 
kept almost perpetually locked and barred. The 
chaplain, the Rev. Dr. Houghton, was a tall, grave, 
majestic personage, calm and dignified in his man- 
ner, and while having the appearance of being 
neither reticent nor ignorant concerning the duke 
and his reasons for his seclusion, it required stupen- 
dous hardihood to question him on the subject; but 
whatever efforts had been made to learn the duke’s 
secrets, whatever questions had been asked, not a 
syllable had ever passed his lips; and nothing what- 
ever had been learned of him excepting what had 
been gleaned abroad. 

On Sundays the duke’s chapel, the first church 
ever built on the island, was thronged with visitors 
more eager to see the distinguished hermit than to 
hear the service; and those who were in their seats 
at half-past ten, had the gratification of beholding 
a misshapen little man, scarcely above five feet in 
height, with a hideously crooked spine and an uti- 
6 


82 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


sightly hump on his hack, make his way rapidly up 
the centre aisle to his pew near the pulpit. There 
was certainly no indication in his person that he was 
a nobleman or a man of great wealth ; hut he had a 
face that redeemed the hideousness of his body. 
Though sadly marred by profound dejection, gloom, 
and misanthropy, his countenance bore the unmis- 
takable stamp of intellect and cultivation, and was 
marvelously delicate and handsome, with great, 
deep, black, melancholy eyes which seemed to rest 
on nothing or nobody, a pale high brow, and a per- 
fectly Grecian regularity of features. He was al- 
ways beardless; and there were lines of expression 
around the handsome mouth which told volumes of 
the heart throbbings within that misshapen body. 
Take it all in all, it was a wonderful face which one 
might studj 7 hours with interest — in public, cold, 
impassive, reserved, but what agony of soul one 
might conceive that sensitive face capable of ex- 
pressing in secret ! 

Though isolated behind a high stone wall from all 
the world, the duke and his castle still exerted no 
little influence over the aristocratic element of the 
town. It was known that the duke dined at seven; 
and seven became the dinner hour of all who made 
any pretense to fashion ; his devotional habits made 
church-going the badge and sign of high breeding 
and aristocracy; and to build a castle was the am- 
bition that burned in many an aspiring breast. 

But there was a vague feeling among the proud 
and haughty aristocrats of the granite business, the 
cod and herring fisheries, and the mackerel pickling 
that the duke’s ignorance of their existence was a 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


83 


slight and an indignity; and many were the efforts 
made to obtain his recognition; hut there were none 
who could yet boast of gaining any other acknowl- 
edgment of their existence from him, than his ex- 
ceedingly beautiful autograph signature to a very 
stately note politely declining their invitations. 

Great, therefore, was the excitement and aston- 
ishment, when the news went forth that the duke 
would attend Mrs. Walp’s party; and infinite was 
the speculation as to the cause. Was he at last to 
come out permanently from his seclusion, would he 
enter society, would he throw open the castle, or 
was this only a freak, a whim, never to be repeated ? 
And envy burned deep in many a breast! 


84 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


CHAPTER X. 

MRS. WALP’S FAMOUS PARTY. 

Mrs. W alp's castle, though not “ up to the duke's,” 
as Pudney was fond of reminding her, was still a 
noble structure and had cost Walp a great deal of 
money and Pudney a great deal of anxiety; for 
where his wife's pride and vanity were concerned, 
Walp was extravagant to profligacy. He was, 
moreover, himself fond of show and ambitious of 
“ beating everything in creation,'' and fully sympa- 
thized with his wife's ambition to build the eighth 
wonder of the world, to be distinguished by vast- 
ness, eccentricity, and intricacy. Absequam was an 
enormous building modeled after one of the old 
baronial halls of England; and before it was fin- 
ished, Europe had been ransacked for its adornment. 

Pudney looked on in terror lest Walp should be 
ruined. The main staircase, which ran from the 
ground floor to the roof, alone cost twenty thousand 
dollars. The wainscoting in the grand banquet hall 
absorbed fifty thousand more; and for the very 
range in the kitchen Walp had given his check for 
five hundred dollars. Over half a million was spent 
before the castle was finished. But it was a grand 
and noble pile, a soul -inspiring spectacle within and 
without; and it had a fine situation on a high bluff 
commanding* an extensive view of the ocean ; while 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


85 


stretching' back from the sea, on both sides and in 
the rear of the castle, were some five hundred acres 
of woodland covered with a fine growth of spruces, 
pines, hemlocks, hickories, maples, chestnuts, and 
oaks. These were trimmed, the underbrush cleared 
out, and carriage-ways, bridle paths, and romantic 
walks, lined with marble statues and magnificent 
fountains, were laid out in every direction; innu- 
merable rustic bowers and charming summer-houses, 
covered with creeping vines, were constructed in 
romantic spots; picturesque bridges were built over 
brawling brooks and across wild-looking chasms 
and gullies ; a magnificent broad avenue was opened 
the entire length of the woods along the shore; and 
ornate pavilions were erected at intervals along the 
sea-front. In short, the woods were transformed 
into a magnificent sylvan park on which more than 
two hundred thousand dollars were expended; and 
still the work of embellishing and improving went 
on endlessly. 

Absequam had already seen great days even be- 
fore being honored by the presence of the duke. Two 
young English lords doing America with their tu- 
tors, had once been captured for a dinner; an aged 
«ountess, trying to find relief from the hay fever, 
had been dragged thither and forced to spend a 
week at Absequam; and finally one corpulent Dutch 
baron, one big Russian count, and one little thin 
French marquis, all hunting for rich wives, had been 
successively drummed up for a party. But never 
had the castle been in such a state of excitement as 
when it was known that the Duke of Hurlborough 
was coming to Absequam. 


86 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


Mrs. Walp herself was almost overwhelmed with 
the distinction which had so unexpectedly and mys- 
teriously fallen upon her. She wondered what she 
ought to talk about to this great and noble eccen- 
tricity who had the reputation of being a very 
learned man; and when she consulted Dr. Houghton 
as to how she could best please his grace and he 
advised her "simply to be herself,” she tried to 
think what she should do and what she should say 
"to be herself;” and she was still pursuing that 
perplexing query when the great man appeared be- 
fore her. 

Absequam was resplendent with all that Walp’s 
share in the profits of the granite quarry could pur- 
chase. Le Grand, the florist, had surpassed himself 
in the decorations; and the castle looked like a 
tropical fairyland. Its beautiful mistress herself 
was well worthy of the magnificence surrounding 
her. She had not neglected to study her own 
charms and the science of displaying and enhancing 
them. As a thing of beauty to remain quiescent 
and receive admiration, she was perfect. Nature 
could have done no more; art had exhausted itself. 
As a stately, courtly, self-possessed hostess receiv- 
ing her guests, she was perfect, too. But when the 
duke was announced, every ceremonious word died 
on her lips. Ah ! how little did the poor woman 
dream that night how small a place she filled in her 
noble visitor’s thoughts! How little did she dream 
of that strange drama of which this was one act! 
She knew it all later; and oh, how insignificant she 
saw her role, then, in the play— what a mere super- 
numerary! She beheld now only the duke; and 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


87 


there was that in his face that overwhelmed her — 
stilled every weak word she attempted to utter. In 
place of the expression of misanthropy, gloom, and 
dejection which usually darkened his otherwise 
agreeable countenance, he wore upon his brow a 
look of high and noble resolve as if he were here to 
execute some great and worthy purpose though to 
his own utter annihilation, or to perform some 
grand, heroic action — a look that a martyr might 
wear. Yet it was a peaceful look, sublime in its 
resignation ; but there was no smile on his lips, no 
light speech on his tongue; his gravity, serenity, 
and majesty seemed to tower high above the reach 
of common mortal thought. 

Mrs. Walp, with a flushed cheek, with no longer 
a spark of the pride with which she had contem- 
plated this eventful moment, with only a desperate 
desire to escape his sight — belittling her to utter 
worthlessness, murmured a few agitated words 
which she could never afterwards remember, and 
confusedty presented the duke to a large circle of 
her guests who eagerty pressed forward demanding 
the honor and finally disposed of him by turning 
him over to her nieces. 

The young ladies, believing themselves cast for 
the leading roles of the pla}^, little knowing what 
brought the duke to Absequam that night, ex- 
hibited their high breeding and old Madame Tor- 
quille's effective training, by maintaining the seren- 
est composure, the most imperturbable equanim- 
ity, the most graceful self-complacency, untroubled 
by any fear of having nothing to say worthy a great 
man's hearing — a condition of mind greatly aided 


88 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


by their perfect success in the acquisition of the 
coveted diamonds. Their aunt, her reason restored, 
had the proud satisfaction of seeing that her nieces 
were quite unembarrassed, and that they were talk- 
ing, whatever the talk was, with ladylike ease. 
Then she saw the trio moving toward one of the 
great Le Grand’s wonderful masterpieces and pres- 
ently disappear. 

Not long after she descried Miss Pudney in 
another part of the room surrounded by a group of 
young gallants, and Miss Harriet near by with a 
following of her own. What had become of the 
duke she did not learn till sometime later. That he 
was in the hands, not to say the custody, of some 
ambitious soul she never doubted. That he was 
within the precincts of Absequam was enough for 
her own vaulting ambition ; and she gave herself up 
to the consideration of another matter. 

Among the most distinguished guests present, 
next after the duke, was Dr. Albert P. Mackintosh, 
a famous surgeon, the author of several important 
surgical works. Dr. Mackintosh, before he was 
thirty, could almost take a man to pieces and put 
him safely together again. His surgical exploits 
had spread his renown all over the world; though 
not yet thirty-five, he had been summoned by the 
foremost surgeons of the age to assist in some of 
the most delicate and dangerous operations ever 
performed on the human anatomy; in the hospitals, 
scarcely anything peculiarly delicate or hazardous 
was done that Mackintosh was not present. One 
woman had a very hideously distorted face re- 
created by his surgical skill; while slicing up eyes 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


89 


was merely one of his little off-hand, ante-breakfast 
jobs. His surgical exploits had filled columns in 
„ the daily papers all over the country. Among his 
patients were some of the most famous men and 
women of the day; while his Treatise on the Human 
Eye, his Manual on the Surgery of the Human 
Viscera, and his work on the Character and Treat- 
ment of Gunshot Wounds, were regarded by the 
profession as works of authority. 

This famous man was now seated at a little dis- 
tance directly opposite where Mrs. Walp was stand- 
ing amidst her admirers; and by his side sat 
Pudney — Pudney in a swallow-tail coat which six or 
eight years of practice in dining out and attending 
balls and parties could never make him feel quite 
natural in. In fact, he felt in his heart that it was 
a joke — “ such a ridiculous cdat! My grandad 
wore a coat like that. Seems as if I was wearhT it 
to train and carry on. A man o’ my age ! I can’t 
hardly keep my face straight.” 

In this coat in which he felt so ridiculous, and a 
pair of white kid gloves, and diamonds of the finest 
water gleaming from his broad expanse of shirt- 
bosom, Pudney was talking and the famous surgeon 
was listening. The doctor, to speak truly, though 
tall and very handsome, looked no more to the man- 
or born than Pudney. It was true he had removed 
a tumor from a duchess, cut a cancer from a prin- 
cess, and prodded the anatomy of many another of 
earth’s great; he had also felt the pulse and in- 
spected the tongues of governors, senators, and 
presidents; and he was, moreover, a very wealthy 
man having recently inherited some three hundred 


90 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


thousand dollars from an uncle in Australia; but 
for all that, he now sat amidst the aesthetic mag- 
nificence of Mrs. Walp’s princely castle, chewing a 
toothpick with one hand in his pocket. It could not 
be claimed that he was exactly of patrician birth; 
and as to his tastes, he would have found more 
pleasure in Betsey Dodd’s kitchen, where, having 
found something to attract him, indifferent to the 
dirt and disorder he was a frequent visitor, than he 
now took here amidst all the royal magnificence 
surrounding him. 

Mrs. Walp, observing that Pudne} r was talking 
and the doctor was listening, knew very well the 
subject of his discourse; for Pudney had privately 
avowed his intentions. 

He began in a circuitous way. 

“Ben introdoosed to the jook?” he queried face- 
tiously. He had known Mackintosh when, a boarder 
at Betsey Dodd’s, he was attending college, and was 
neither rich nor famous. 

The doctor nodded, “Yes.” 

“ Queer critter.” 

“ Rather eccentric.” 

“Well, I don’t think no more of a duke than I do 
of a — a puke ! Haw ! haw ! haw ! ” and he slapped 
the doctor affectionately on the shoulder; and see- 
ing by his small, amused smile and his “Thank 
you,” that he “saw” the compliment and the joke, 
he was highly delighted with his little impromptu 
wit. “For rtiy part I don’t want no dukes and no 
duchesses in my fam’ly. I couldn’t never feel to 
home with a duke for a son-in-law; and I’ll be 
hanged if I could stand it to have little dukes and 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


91 


duchesses for grandchildren. If I was to pick and 
choose for those gals of mine, doc, Fd sooner take 
you for a son-in-law than all the dukes on two legs, 
haw ! haw ! haw ! ” 

“Thank you! thank you! thank you!” He spoke 
indolently, nodding pleasantly, and smiled and 
chewed his toothpick, and kept his hand in his pocket. 
In fact he was perfectly unmoved, unastonished, 
and noncommittal. 

“ I spose they are hound to get married,” con- 
tinued Pudney, “ and I want to see ’em married to 
good, honest, respectable men with plenty of com- 
mon sense. They don’t have to get married to find 
a home. I’ve got money enough for ’em all; and 
they’ll get a lot more when I’m gone; and I can’t 
help feelin’ that I’d like to have some say about 
who’s to have the handlin’ of the money I’ve made.” 

“Very reasonable.” 

“Laura’s the oldest; but they’re both of ’em 
young enough. Some might like one the best, and 
some, ’totlier. I’ve got nothing to say about that. 
They are both of ’em good clever girls; and there’s 
nothing stuck up about ’em,” and delicately reliev- 
ing the doctor of the necessity of committing him- 
self, he changed the subject without waiting for a 
reply. “ Got a pretty big turn-out here to-night.” 

“ Yes, it’s a large party,” and then by mutual and 
tacit agreement, the two men began strolling 
through the rooms. 

Present^ the doctor’s e3 r e fell upon Miss Pudne}^ 
in the centre of a group of admirers, coquettishly 
chatting, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright 
with the exhilaration of conquest. 


92 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


Pudney saw where the doctor’s glance fell. 
“ Them gals are young yet,” he said apologetically. 
‘‘ They are as wild as a couple of skittish colts now; 
but they’ll sober down.” 

* “ O, yes/’ amiably returned the doctor. 

They continued their promenade to the end of the 
piazza where it was less crowded; and the doctor 
stopped to sniff the ozone rolling in from the sea 
while his companion looked musingly through the 
open windows upon the scene within. They had 
stopped before Mrs. Walp’s noble library, where 
gleaming white busts of the sages, and wits, and 
geniuses of the ages, looked down on a vision of 
beauty their most fertile conceptions never ex- 
celled. 

The room, though one of the most interesting in 
the house, seemed almost alone in its splendor. One 
or two couples, nearly hidden behind the magnifi- 
cent luxuriance of foliage and flowers, were scat- 
tered throughout its vast length before some of 
Le Grand’s wondrous exotics; but at last his eye, 
roving around, fell upon something familiar and 
human. 

. “ Why, lookathere ! ” he cried, “ if there hain’t my 
little Em talkin’ with the duke! See, there behind 
those palms ! Did you ever ! Look at her ! the little 
tyke ! She hain’t * out,’ yet, as they call it; but she’s 
always ben in the habit of cornin’ to see the flowers 
when her aunt has a party. To-night though, the 
other girls — I s’pect they were kinder jealous, it 
bein’ their cornin’ out party — they said she shouldn’t 
come; but she made such a touse, I told her to put 
on a good dress and come along. Well, I’m glad 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


93 


she came; but it’s most time for her to go home and 
go to bed. Just look at her now! Hain’t that a 
sober little thing for you! She hain’t only sixteen; 
«« hut she was always just that way — sober as a dea- 
con. See, now, how she’s talkin’ away to the duke! 
She hain’t afraid of nobody; and she says the queer- 
est things. I often wish I didn’t have nothin’ else 
to do, I’d get a big blank book and write down all 
the curious things she gets off. Now I wonder what 
she’s sayin’! See how the duke pays ’tention to 
what she says ! I guess he’s pleased with her, any- 
way, if he don’t like nobody else. Now see, he’s 
talkin’ to her! Look at her! She just swallows 
every word he says. ’Pears to me they act as if 
they’d ben acquainted this good while. Look at 
him makin’ motions! He means what he says! 
Look at Em’s eyes! I guess she must be askin’ him 
questions and he’s answerin’ — that’s what she’s 
always doin’ — always forever askin’ questions no- 
body can’t answer.” 

“ The duke, at all events seems answering,” re- 
marked Mackintosh; “ and seems to take a great 
deal of interest in doing so.” 

“By George! don’t he though!” cried Pudney, 
proudly. “ I ’spect Emmie’s in clover. She’s always 
wishin’ she could find somebody that knows enough 
to tell her all she wants to know. I wish the other 
two were as sober as she is. But they’ll tame 
down,” he added hurriedly as they resumed their 
promenade. 

The prospects of the other two girls “taming 
down ” seemed, at that moment, rather far distant. 
Miss Laura was flirting wildly with half a dozen 


94 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


young men; and Miss Harriet was flirting’ quite as 
wildly with another half dozen. 

Pudney watched them a moment, half pleased, 
half uneasy. He saw them in a different light here 
among those whom they esteemed their equals, from 
what they appeared under at home where the pres- 
ence of those inferior beings, the old friends in his 
service, and of those other inferior beings, their 
father and mother, caused them to maintain an air 
of austerity and of stiff and frigid reserve. Here 
everybod}^ surrounding them was rich, fashionable, 
and aristocratic; and there was nobod} 7 to put down 
and be kept in place, nobody to restrain from taking 
liberties with their dignity, nobody to frown upon 
and treat with coldness and severity. They were 
therefore unrestrained in their delight, and coy, 
arch, vivacious, and graceful, and their faces beamed 
with smiles. 

“ They’re havin’ a real good time, hain’t they ? ” 
murmured their father to the doctor. “ Hain’t you 
goin’ to shake hands with ’em ?” 

“Very happy to,” returned Mackintosh; and 
Pudney led him to his eldest daughter. 

Miss Pudney, having heard how distinguished and 
wealthy the doctor had become, and as he was as 
handsome and imposing as he was rich and famous, 
condoned the tooth-pick, overlooked the hand in his 
pocket, and received him with every mark of high 
favor; and she greeted her father so graciously 
and called him “ papa ” so magnificently, that he 
was glad to escape as soon as he had presented his 
chosen son-in-law. 

Just at that moment, delightful strains of music 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


95 


welled out from the hall-room, and the doctor, drop- 
ping his toothpick into his vest pocket, asked the 
young lady to dance. 

Sets were forming for the lancers. The doctor 
clutched Miss Pudney’s hand, and with long strides, 
marched her out into the middle of the floor. Hav- 
ing planted her to his satisfaction in the midst of 
the dancers, he took his stand by her side and be- 
gan to talk while the sets were Ailing up. When 
he had nothing to do, nothing to study, nothing to 
call for concentration of mind, the doctor was talk- 
ative to loquacity; and it mattered little to him 
who his auditor might be; he adapted neither his 
style nor his topic to any one’s understanding, hut 
talked on and on without a thought as to whether 
he was understood or a suspicion that the subject 
was ill-chosen. He now began to entertain the fair 
damsel at his side with a very technical description 
of a wonderful and successful surgical operation he 
had that morning performed on a little boy who had 
almost been ground to powder in a grist mill. As 
the story proceeded, he fished a soiled envelope and 
a stubby little pencil from his vest pocket and drew 
a diagram to illustrate the subject; and the beauti- 
ful Miss Pudney, as he rolled forth the ponderous 
scientific names of the muscles, and arteries, and 
nerves, looked on with a very sweet affectation of 
interest and comprehension and murmured, “ Yes, 
I see,” and “ Ah ! indeed ! ” at every proper oppor- 
tunity till the music for the dance began. By this 
time, Mackintosh had forgotten where he was and 
what he was going to do; and Miss Pudney had 
been so absorbed in pretending to understand what 


96 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


he was balking* about, that she had not very closely 
observed what was going on around her. As the 
dancers began coartesying, the doctor looked 
around and then suddenly remembered himself just 
in time to respond to his partner’s graceful salute ; 
and seizing the hand which she extended so ele- 
gantly, he attempted to come in on time with his 
share of the figure; but having forgotten what the 
dance was, he looked quickly around to see what 
the others were doing. By the time he had found 
out, another couple was half-way around the set; 
and Miss Pudney, in anguish and shame, had dis- 
covered the awful truth. The set was already com- 
plete before the celebrated surgeon had conducted 
her into it; and they, all that time, had been stand- 
ing just on the edge, the fifth couple in the quadrille ! 
No doubt, she thought in her agony, while this dis- 
tinguished, wealthy and handsome surgeon had 
stood here absorbed in his diagrams of muscles and 
things, the other four couples were laughing in 
their sleeves, and exchanging amused smiles, and 
wondering what would happen when the dance 
began. 

“Never mind!” cried Mackintosh, carelessly, as 
soon as he understood the situation, “we’ll dance 
next time;” and not in the least suspecting her 
mortification, he took her by the arm in a protect- 
ing, affectionate way (he remembered her. when she 
was playing with rag babies stuffed with sawdust), 
and led her out on the piazza, stopping on the way 
to give her a much needed glass of water and 
drinking himself what she left in the glass; and 
Pudney, who had his eye upon them, and saw how 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


97 


earnestly the doctor talked to her, how absorbed 
she appeared to be in every word he uttered, how 
affectionately he dragged her about, and above all 
things, how he drank the water she left in her glass, 
thought the courtship was ripening fast. 

“ Let’s get out of the crowd,” cried Mackintosh, 
never thinking to consult the wishes of his lovely 
companion and keeping on up the piazza towards 
the deserted end. “ This is what you need ! ” he 
exclaimed enthusiastically as he got back to the 
library end where he had been a short time before 
with her father. “ Ozone ! ” he cried, expanding his 
chest. “You always breathe carbonic acid gas in a 
crowd even in the open air unless there’s a good 
breeze. Let’s sit down here;” and all unaware how 
chagrined was the beautiful young lady to turn her 
back on the gaieties of the ball-room and the excite- 
ment of the crowd where there were multitudes to 
gaze on her marvelous charms and her diamonds, 
the great surgeon placidly resumed his interrupted 
lecture; and Miss Pudney resumed her appreciative 
listening; and there they remained till two sets had 
been danced. 

All at once while she sat there, bored, vexed, rag- 
ing inside, charming, edified, complacent externally 
(old Madame Torquille’s own brilliant pupil), she 
saw something strange. It was something behind 
a great mass of white orchids — first a hand moving, 
then looking again, a face, two faces, were plain 
through the flowers. 

It was Emmie and the duke. 

It may be she was still asking questions. It may 
be the duke was replying; but it certainly hardly 
7 


9$ 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


seemed so. Emmie's face was upraised, was full of 
emotion; but the emotion was not joy. She seemed 
pleading, imploring; she leaned towards the duke 
like a child urgently, passionately desirous of gain- 
ing some end; and the duke held her hands and 
looked troubled, distressed, his face full of compas- 
sion. They were talking with passionate earnest- 
ness. The duke shook his head; the girl's whole 
body literally writhed; she threw up her hands, 
wrung them, covered them over her face; and the 
duke looked down on her; and mingled with pity 
and sorrow, was again that martyr-like look of 
noble and heroic resolve. 

Mackintosh, having by this time reached the end 
of his lecture and perceiving the direction towards 
which his auditor turned her attention, looked 
around, saw the pair behind the orchids, took his 
companion by the arm and exclaimed, “ Come, let's 
go and have that dance! " 

All this time, Miss Harriet had been dancing 
every set and all the time with the same partner 
on whom Pudney looked with extreme disfavor. 
His success with the ladies in general was due to a 
remarkably handsome face and figure, very great 
skill in dancing, singing, playing on the piano, and, 
last, bub not least, to remarkable conversational 
abilities which enabled him to hold spellbound peo- 
ple of all classes and conditions, edcuated or unedu- 
cated, such was his fund of humor, his wit, and his 
command of language, so well-stored his mind with 
entertaining experiences, and such his ability to 
render his descriptions of character and events pic- 
turesque, graphic, and charming. It always seemed 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


99 


to his acquaintances that he had had a peculiarly 
eventful life, that he could never go anywhere — an 
hour’s journe}^ even, without some adventure, some 
droll experience, some thrilling mishap, or encoun- 
tering some singular people. But it was all in the 
way he took life, all in his impressionability. He 
noticed, and forever remembered, what would have 
left no trace on ordinary sensibilities. It was some- 
times said he exaggerated. Perhaps so — more than 
perhaps — he did, to a certainty. It was necessary 
to pierce through the rhinoceros hide of ordinary 
minds. Life, at life-size, their myopic perceptions 
failed to discern; so he put everything under his 
big magnifying lenses and clapped on the powers 
higher *and higher to suit every e^e. 

Pudney himself always listened to him with de- 
lig’ht; but he meant to marry his girls to rich men 
and Woiferts was not rich. In the beginning of his 
life, having mistaken conversational ability for 
literary talents, he had tried literature and had 
written, and— worse yet — had published three novels 
at his own cost till he had neither the money nor 
the heart to -publish another. Then he tried putting 
some of his mental pictures on canvas; but his 
paintings sold no better than his books. Having 
then, failed both in literature and art, instead of be- 
coming a newspaper writer or a critic, he borrowed 
five hundred dollars of his grandfather, the only 
relative who had not turned his back upon him for 
his failures, and came to Winthrop Harbor where 
he went into the business of raising poultry in which 
he had met with such signal success that “ Wolfert’s 
chickens” were well-known throughout this and the 


100 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


adjoining state; and he had already acquired a very 
respectable competence. He had, moreover, at last, 
published a successful hook, entitled “What I 
Know about the Chicken Business,” which had had 
a very large sale and added materially to his rev- 
enue. He was still, however, far from rich and owed 
his social successes entirely to his graces of person 
and to his accomplishments. But Pudney placed 
no value on any of these gifts for a son-in-law; and 
he was standing on the piazza looking in through 
the window, considering what he could do to sepa- 
rate the young woman from her fascinating part- 
ner, an unpleasant sense of guilt pervading his 
breast, when he thought he felt a tap on his 
arm. 

It thrilled him; and turning around with a start, 
almost expecting to confront the visible presence of 
his accusing conscience, he beheld, instead, a tall 
blonde lady in a sweeping violet velvet dress, who, 
for some time, had disputed with Mrs. Walp the 
high position of leader of society at Winthrop 
Harbor. 

The lady might have been a duchess, a princess 
of the blood royal, judging from externals. In mag- 
nificence, and grandeur, and dignity of person, she 
far outshone her younger rival. She was tall, large, 
imposing, with a commanding air that instantly 
gave her the ascendency over most people and had 
made even the general of an army quail. She was 
a matron, too, of sufficient years to add dignity to 
her presence, a woman of great force of character 
and of excellent taste and judgment in all matters 
appertaining to those important accessories of life. 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


101 


millinery, upholstery, dinners, teas, balls, parties, 
and so forth. 

Added to these natural advantages, she wielded 
almost despotic sway over the possessor of more 
•' than one million of dollars — the head of the great 
firm of codfish shippers, Messrs. Simpson, Jimpson 
& Dimpson, who shipped what they called “ an ele- 
gant article ” of slack-salted codfish to all parts of 
the world, putting up about fifty thousand quintals 
of fish annually. 

Simpson himself never went into society as he took 
no interest in anything but codfish, unless, possibly, 
it might be herring or mackerel in which he some- 
times dabbled. He never felt at home in other peo- 
ple’s houses; and he wanted to eat only what he 
paid for. He never wanted to be beholden to any- 
one for anything. It was enough to feel under a 
lifelong obligation to Mrs. Simpson for sacrificing 
herself to him. If he had any time to spend in idle- 
ness, he preferred to take a nap, or to sit down with 
his chair tilted up against the wall in his office and 
smoke his pipe and tell jokes, mostly fish stories, in 
the company of two or three other men, familiar 
friends and congenial spirits. 

But though he would never go into company him- 
self, he liked to have Mrs. Simpson go and show her 
clothes and diamonds and let people know the slack- 
salted codfish business was flourishing; though 
Simpson’s wishes in the matter had no influence on 
Mrs. Simpson who was by no means under his control. 

When Pudney turned his head and beheld Mrs. 
Simpson at his elbow, though he had known the 
Simpsons when the head of the great firm of slack- 


102 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


salted codfish shippers was only a common fisher- 
man, aye, even when the great Mrs. Simpson her- 
self was a maiden making shirts for her living, the 
blood leaped into his face, his e3^es fell before her 
steady, serene, self-possessed, imperious gaze, and 
falling by some unlucky mischance upon the great, 
heaving white billows under her diamonds, com- 
pleted his confusion. Mrs. Simpson always did 
overwhelm Pudney even in her shirt-making days; 
and now, as she cried out in a loft^, censorious 
manner: “ Aha! so this is you, is it, Mr. Pudne}^! 
Good evenin', sir," Pudney totally lost sight of the 
fact that he was of any account at all, and answered 
apologetically, as though ashamed that he was not 
somebody else: 

“ Yes, Mis' Simpson, it's me. Good evenin', marm. 
How'd you do this evenin' marm ? " 

“ Pm pretty well, I thank you, sir," replied the 
lady, severely. “ But I've got a bone to pick with 
you, sir." 

“ A bone to pick with me ! " cried Pudney with a 
craven air. “ What have I ben doin' ? " 

“ I've ben told, sir, that you've ben tellin' around, 
that my son Joshy has ben leadin' on your Dick to 
drink; and I've ben told you said you saw my Joshy 
drink whiskey yourself ; and that he was on the road 
to ruin. Now I want you to take that all back, sir. 
I think the shoe's on the other foot." 

“ I don't recollect sayin' anything of the kind," 
retorted Pudney recovering himself, and with him- 
self his pugnacity; “but if I did say it, I'll stick to 
it. I never take back anything I say, marm, never. 
But I know I never said it for I never saw your son 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


103 


drink a drop of whiskey in my life, nor any other 
man, woman, or child on this island. I don’t go in 
that kind of company.” 

" Then if you never said it, sir,” returned Mrs. 

' Simpson magnanimously, " I’ll forgive you. I’m not 
a person to harbor a grievance without cause. 
Let us shake hands and be friends.” 

This ceremony having been performed, she added 
smilingly, "Now I want you to introduce me to the 
duke. I’m goin’ to haul him over the coals. I’m 
goin’ to know what he means by always sendin’ me 
a polite negative and then cornin’ here,” and putting 
her ponderous white arm over Pudney’s coat sleeve, 
she insisted on his leading her to the duke forthwith. 

" How select our dear little Susie is gettin’ in her 
parties ! ” she remarked as they passed along. " I 
expect the time will come when she wunt invite any- 
body but dukes and duchesses. Dear me ! how well 
I recollect the first party she gave when you moved 
to Seaview from •” 

" That little shanty in Atlantic Avenue.” 

" From that dear picturesque little cottage,” 

continued Mrs. Simpson superbly, superior to taking 
any notice of the interruption; and continuing her 
ruminations upon the past — Mrs. Walp’s past, she 
named over many a "low, vulgar person” who had 
shared that lady’s hospitality in those early days 
when she never thought but that " school marms ” 
and poor young ministers of the gospel were as good 
as Mrs. Slacksalted Codfish Simpson whose escutch- 
eon was free from the stigma of having "kept 
school ” because, when she went before the commit- 
tee men (that was before she knew Simpson) and 


104 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


asked for a " c’tificate,” the first question they asked 
her was, "What’s an Abstract Number?” and she 
told them, in her own lofty way, that that was on 
the very first page of the ’rethmetic and she didn’t 
never bother about those little simple things, and 
begged them to turn to the hard part in the back 
of the book; but they were stubborn old fellows and 
refused to ask her another question. 

"Well,” replied Pudney with sly malice in answer 
to Mrs. Simpson’s catalogue of Mrs. Walp’s vulgar 
guests of by-gone parties, " you see Sue was green 
in those days. She’s cut her wisdom teeth now; 
and I’ll bet if I was earnin’ my livin’ cuttin’ stone 
now, and you was workin’ on shirts, she wouldn’t 
speak to airy one of us. That’s the kind of a critter 
Sue is.” 

Mrs. Simpson’s eyes flashed; her nostrils dilated ; 
and the great wdiite billows under her massive dia- 
mond necklace rose and fell. She felt like stripping 
off her long, white kid gloves and literally clawing 
Pudney ’s eyes out; but by a great mental effort she 
restrained herself and betook her to a more refined 
manner of revenge. 

"Is Mrs. Pudney here to-night?” she asked in 
soft, friendly accents. 

The dagger went straight to Pudney ’s heart. 
"No, she hain’t here,” he replied in humbled tones; 
his head drooped; and he looked the disgrace he 
felt. 

Mrs. Simpson enjoyed his misery. He might have 
retorted, indeed she had expected it, "Where’s 
Simpson ? ” but she was prepared for that. 

" Why in the world is she not here to-night of all 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


105 


times, when your daugters are brought out?” she 
continued in tones of the friendliest interest. 

“ She hain’t got no clones to wear,” returned Pud- 
ney. "I don’t never give her no money; and of 
' course she hain’t goin’ to come here neked.” 

“ O, Mr. Pudney, you know well enough that’s 
not the truth. That hain’t the reason she hain’t 
here.” 

"Well, to tell you the truth,” replied Pudney, 
“ my wife enjoys herself better readin’ her Bible and 
say in’ her prayers than she does goin’ ’mongst us 
wicked, worldly devils that think of nothin’ hut 
makin’ a show.” 

"Ah, but Mrs. Pudney ought to consider that you 
have a social position to maintain,” replied Mrs. 
Simpson, loftily. " She ought to consider that peo- 
ple think it very strange never seein’ her in com- 
pany.” 

" My wife don’t consider nothin’ of the kind ! ” 
retorted Pudney hotly, bent on standing up for his 
wife behind her back, whatever he said to her face; 
"and she’s right. She considers that she would be 
a humbug and a fraud to put on a long trailin’ vel- 
vet gown and twenty thousand dollars’ worth of 
diamonds, and swell ’round pretendin’ she never 
touched a broom-handle or wrung out a mop, and 
lookin’ down on people who earn their livin’ the 
same way she used to.” 

Mrs. Simpson determined to abandon a contest 
with one who emploj^ed such uncivilized weapons 
and to remain no longer in the company of one who 
indulged in such degrading reflections, yet, deter- 
mined to have the last word, she turned with a 


106 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


sweet smile upon her detested foe, exclaiming with 
well-affected amiability : 

“ Pm surprised to find you want your poor wife to 
stay to home and be such a drudge. For my part, 
I always thought, what little I saw of her, that she 
was a very nice little woman — considerin’ her op- 
portunities. I guess Pll go and have a chat with 
my friend, Mrs. Parker. Pll see the duke later.” 

The diamonds flashed; the trailing violet velvet 
wound like a serpent through the throng; and the 
majestic lady swept beyond his gaze before the full 
import of her words reached his astonished mind. 
Mrs. Walp’s party was, indeed, very select; and 
Pudney, as he moved about amidst the distinguished 
assemblage, receiving the courteous salutations of 
first one great man and then another till he was 
overawed, in fact, by his own importance and amazed 
within himself at the distinction conferred by the 
power of money, was continually haunted b3 7 Mrs. 
Simpson’s words. He had indeed, a social position 
to maintain. These people all knew he had a wife 
living; what could they think that she was never 
at his side ? 

These painful thoughts were interrupted by the 
announcement of supper — another dreadful ordeal 
to Pudney; not but that he had learned how to eat 
by this time; but it was one thing to know how, 
and another thing, at his age, to do it. He was so 
honest and straightforward, and had such a con- 
tempt for affectation and sham, and what he felt to 
be mincing ways, that he liked to eat what was set 
before him without any ado or waste of time. But 
having resolved to conform, in all things, to the 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


107 


usages of the aristocracy whom he both hated and 
revered, he never heard the announcement of a 
stately repast without feeling* that he had a great 
trial before him. 

Mrs. Walp’s supper did justice to the taste, pride, 
and administrative ability of the foremost lady of 
Winthrop Harbor. The tables, groaning under a 
load of costly and appetizing viands, magnificent 
plate, china, glass, and floral decorations, were 
noble and aesthetic works of art which it seemed 
vandalism to despoil for the gross wants of human 
appetites. But the exotic guest was not slow in 
making one singular discovery — there was nothing 
to drink but water or lemonade, unless one wanted 
tea, or coffee, or chocolate; and Mrs. Walp was 
blissfully unconscious that anyone among her guests 
was astonished that people who lived like the mas- 
ter and mistress of Absequam had not learned 
abroad to know better than to orovide a supper 
without wines and liquors. 

The Walps no more thought of offering their 
guests strong drink because they had seen it at the 
houses of respectable people in New York, Wash- 
ington and Paris, than they would have thought of 
providing them with chopsticks because the Chinese 
use chopsticks. 

So far as Mrs. Walp could realize, the Maine 
Liquor Law had existed from time immemorial ; and 
never having been in the habit, as she herself so 
frequently declared, of associating with “ the dregs 
of creation,” she had never heard anything against 
it till she went out of the state, except that it was 
not half stringent enough. Although extremely 


108 


ETJDNEY & WALP. 


adaptable to the ways of others, and only too ready 
to depart from the instruction of her youth in the 
adoption of fashionable and modern ideas and per- 
verse and unholy opinions, yet it always seemed to 
her, in spite of every effort to shake off the preju- 
dice, that liquor drinking' was dreadfully low and 
the drinkers on the road to ruin; and that wine 
drinking, however much she had seen of it amongst 
the fashionable and elegant, was the first step 
down hill. She had never seen a man reeling on the 
street from drink, or hung drunk on a cellar door, 
till she went out of the state; and the imputation 
of maintaining a private gin bottle had always kept 
company there with a banged-up hat, broken boots, 
tatters flying in the wind, a dwelling with a stove- 
pipe chimney, broken windows stuffed with rags and 
old hats, and a winter maintenance by the selectmen; 
hence, it was difficult at her age, to associate the 
fumes of liquor with a clean shirt, white hands, and 
a respectable coat. It might not have been adher- 
ence to a principle. Her temperance views were 
rather the triumph of a prejudice too early and too 
firmly implanted to be easily uprooted. 

Both she and Walp had, in early youth, in com- 
mon with everybody else in their neighborhood who 
was of any account, joined the Temperance Division 
where they had solemnly pledged themselves never, 
so long as life should last, to yield to the tempta- 
tions of the wine cup — vows easy to keep where 
there was no drink to be had and drinkers forthwith 
cast out into the outer darkness of the totally 
depraved. But with all her faults and all her fri- 
volity, she had remembered and kept her vow in all 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


109 


lands and all climes; and to her own total abstinence 
was due, perhaps, the stability of her opinions or 
prejudices, whichever they were; else she might 
have been carried away by that fashion as by many 
others and deceived as to its popularity at home. 

But she was no mighty champion of temperance, 
In maintaining her principles and carrying them 
out in her hospitalities, she had no adverse tide of 
public opinion to stem, no fashionable leaders to 
oppose. There had never been more than a rumor 
of an attempt to offer wines and liquors to guests 
at Winthrop Harbor; and even that was repudiated 
as a slander. The great Mrs. Simpson and her 
sons and daughters had returned from a European 
tour with their minds rather badly unbalanced on 
the subject; and it was said they proposed giving a 
grand champagne supper to some friends from New 
York and the elite of Winthrop Harbor, but that 
they had changed their minds on hearing they were 
likely to eat their supper alone with the New 
Yorkers aforesaid as the elite of Winthrop Harbor 
were not tipplers themselves, nor would they sit 
down with tipplers. But Mrs. Simpson indignantly 
denied the story; and no one in the town was after- 
wards more active in hunting up the shanties of 
reputed drunkards with a temperance pledge in her 
pocket. 

If anything else than the opinion of its best peo- 
ple had been needed to set the temperance fashion 
firmly on its legs, it was given by the Duke of Hurl- 
borough when his butler was indicted for bringing 
liquor into the state and selling it to his fellow- 
servants. The duke dismissed the butler and the 


110 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


purchasers of his liquors; and it then transpired 
that he had no wine cellar and was a firm believer 
in the value of Maine’s prohibition. 

If there was danger from any quarter, it was from 
the rising generation, educated out of the state. 
The two Miss Pudneys had taken lessons in sipping . 
wine at Madame Torquille’s elegant receptions (the 
madame always charged for it under the general 
head of “ extras;” and Pudney had always paid a 
big price for every sip without the least idea that he 
was paying for making drunkards of his daughters 
as he would have called it); but truth to tell they 
always secretly felt like a couple of young bac- 
chanals for it; though it seemed so aristocratic and 
opulent and the wine was so delightful, they were 
quite fascinated by it, and would have been glad 
enough if their aunt had not been what they re- 
garded as so behind the age in her ideas on this one 
subject; though they by no means admired their 
brother Dick’s new complexion; nor did they wholly 
subscribe to his opinions. Madame Torquille drew 
the line at rum, gin, and whiskey which she declared 
no gentleman would drink unless he were dreadfully 
ill and not then if brandy was to be had. 

When supper was announced, Mrs. Walp, having 
sent W T alp to look after the duke, made a thrilling 
discovery. The duke was nowhere to be found ! His 
carriage still awaited him; but the great man him- 
self was totally non est. Then oh! what tribula- 
tion the poor woman was in ! To maintain her com- 
posure, to seem happy, triumphant, and joyous, and 
te have a soul full of anxiety, tortured with shame, 
burning with resentment! 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


Ill 


The next news that reached her, deepened the 
mystery but somewhat relieved her torturing* 
fears. 

It had transpired that the duke had been seen by 
the lackeys escorting a young girl to a carriage — 
Emmie, without doubt, and the carriage, her 
father’s; that the girl fainted away in his arms and 
that he had placed her within and ordered the driver 
to proceed. 

This strange, incomprehensible tale had scarcely 
been poured in her ear when the duke himself crossed 
her vision. He looked like his own self-survivor— 
not dejected, not melancholy, but quite done with 
everything in life. He looked like a man who had 
given up, forever relinquished, forever put away, 
everything he cared for on earth, to accomplish some 
noble end and was happy in the performance of his 
work. He no longer looked misanthropical; but he 
looked very grave; and you might know, if you 
knew human hearts, that his soul had been stirred 
to its depths. 

He took his leave earty. Mrs. Walp wanted to 
go down on her knees and thank him for the glory 
he had shed upon Absequam; but she was nearly 
as speechless as before. 

Pudney heard the story of Emmie’s adventure 
with amused satisfaction; but he scoffed at the idea 
of her fainting. “ That’s ridiculous ! ” he cried, “ a 
healthy girl like Em ! ” The next morning he called 
her “ duchess ” — “ Mornin’, Duchess, ” he cried* 
"how you feelin’ after your sparkin’ last night ?” 

But Emmie seemed in no humor for jests. That 
afternoon as he returned from his business, she met 


112 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


him at the foot of the lawn with a very agitated face, 
and in excited tones, she exclaimed: 

“ Father, Pve come to meet you because I want 
you to do me a favor.” 

“ You want some money to give away, I spose. 
All right, you shall have it. How much you want ? ” 

“No, father, it’s not that,” she answered wildly. 
“ I want you to make them stop asking me questions 
about last night. There is nothing to tell.” 

Her father looked at her. Her face was flushed ; 
her eyes were flashing. She was quivering with ex- 
citement. She was always a queer child, he thought 
to himself. He would not have supposed she would 
have been so excited about such a matter : but if it 
plagued her to have them talk about it, it should 
stop. 

“PH see about it, Em,” he replied. “They shan’t 
plague you any more.” 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


113 


CHAPTER XL 

DR. MACKINTOSH'S COURTSHIP. 

Pudney considerately realized that Mackintosh 
had very little time to go courting and was not at all 
discouraged that that gentleman did not promptty 
follow up his suit for Miss Laura's hand. He had 
no desire to see a prospective son in-law of his fall 
heels over head in love, and neglect his business to 
run after a young lady. What Pudney liked was 
sobriety, steadiness, and common sense. He knew 
Mackintosh was a man who would attend to busi- 
ness first and love afterwards; that he was a man 
who looked out for his worldly interests, attended 
to his investments, husbanded his resources, wasted 
nothing through negligence, and possessed what, in 
his estimation, was a very commendable quantity 
both of acquisitiveness and frugality — exceedingly 
desirable qualities in the future manager of his estate. 
Nevertheless, he recognized the fact that marriages, 
in the State of Maine, could not be wholly arranged 
on a business basis between the parents and a future 
son-in-law: The doctor must have some little op- 
portunity, at least, to make the young lady's ac- 
quaintance; and, fortunately, the cares of his profes- 
sion did leave him one chance. 

He always had invitations to dine out; and with 
praiseworthy frugality he avoided the unnecessary 
8 


114 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


expense of maintaining a dinner table. So Pudney 
waited a few days and then went around to the 
doctor’s and wrote on the slate in his office : 

“ Come round and dine with us the first day you 
are disengaged.” 

The doctor came in a few days and had the young 
ladies to himself as there were no other guests. 
Pudney was in high spirits; and the doctor was as 
loquacious as usual in his leisure moments. 

He talked all the time and looked at the young 
ladies a good deal. They were certainly beautiful 
and his face plainly revealed that he thought so. 
The young ladies were delighted though by no 
means failing to discern that he was far from being 
what Madame Torquille would have pronounced an 
elegant diner-out. He paid great attention to Mrs. 
Pudney which Pudney regarded as an evidence that 
he looked upon her as his future mother-in-law. 
He also regarded the complexion of his future 
brother-in-law with some interest and took occasion 
to remark that whiskey was useful in cases of pye- 
mia, but otherwise, for physiological reasons, should 
never go down the human “throat” (that was the 
way he pronounced it, and so, too, he had spoken 
the word at some of the most august medical con- 
ventions ever held) ; and Dick, with a silly grin, de- 
clared that he guessed he had pyemia all the time. 

The doctor also several times, with his elbow on 
the table, cast scientific glances at Miss Emmie with 
her face very mournful, her eyes out of the window, 
her gaze far away, her dinner just nibbled at; and 
he thought, “ Poor little thing! What sorrows we 
go through at sixteen ! And yet we survive ! ” 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


J 115 


There was one of the great man's faults which 
the young ladies found very hard to bear. The 
thumb-sucking, bone-picking, and economical scrap- 
ing of his plate they overlooked and condoned for 
»» the present only resolved to crush it all out when 
they married him. But this was unbearable. 

Two tall gawky girls from the backwoods of Maine 
waited on the table. When the courses were changed. 
Mackintosh joined their incorrigible father in con- 
versing with them and in performing sundry little 
services for them, handing them the dishes, or 
picking up the forks which they dropped in their 
awkwardness and absorption in the conversation 
and inattention to the business they were paid for. 

“ He'll have to leave that off ! " flashed Miss Pud- 
ney's eyes across the table to her sister. “Won't 
he though!” flashed back Miss Harriet's. But a 
still greater trial was in store for them. 

When the dessert came on, the two tall girls 
from the backwoods were reinforced by another 
young woman. This was Yesta Dodd who brought 
in the coffee. Like the other two girls, she bore 
herself with the mien of undisputed and undoubted 
equality with those she served, but with greater 
likelihood of maintaining it, entering the room with 
as much ladylike grace and dignity as though she 
ministered to her own guests in her own house. As 
she approached the table, she raised a pair of fine 
dark eyes and glanced around with every expecta- 
tion of a polite and respectful recognition, her gaze 
turning first towards Mackintosh as one on whom 
hospitality demanded that she should bestow the 
first attention. 


116 * 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


“ Why Miss Dodd ! ” exclaimed Mackintosh, “ where 
did you come from ?” and hastily pushing- back his 
chair, he rose, and with extended hand hurried 
around the table, his face aglow with pleasure, and 
grasped her hand with a fervor that brought the 
deep color into her cheeks. “ How long have you 
been here, and how did you happen to come ? ” he 
eagerly inquired, still holding her hand. 

“ I came last Thursday,” replied Vesta, withdraw- 
ing her hand with dignity and perfect self-posses- 
sion. “ You know I was talking about going away 
somewhere the last time you were at our house.” 

“ Yes, yes, I remember,” replied Mackintosh rather 
abstracted^ 7 , and refraining from asking the cause 
of her leaving home. He knew she had been disap- 
pointed in getting a school to keep for the summer 
(she had been “ keeping school ” in country villages 
in the summer for several years) and that her father 
blamed her very severely for her failure. Undoubt- 
edly he had been sullen about her remaining at 
home, gormandizing on peas and beans and dried 
apple sauce at his expense, and she, proud, indepen- 
dent, and painfully sensitive, like her mother, to any 
reproach or censure, had taken this means of reliev- 
ing him of her support. 

“I am indebted to my kind friend, Mrs. Pudney, 
for this situation,” added Vesta, looking gratefully 
towards her patron and speaking of her “ situation ” 
with the densest ignorance of its infamy and ig- 
nominy. 

"Yes, yes, I see, I see,” replied Mackintosh with 
the same abstraction in his manner. “ How's your 
mother ? ” he asked returning to his seat. 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


117 


“ Mother is about as usual, thank you.” 

“Well, it's quite a change for you to come here,” 
continued Mackintosh. “You'll get more sea air 
than down at your father's ” (and more to eat, too, 
he thought to himself with satisfaction). “I think 
you look better already. But you must look out 
you don't work too hard,” he added anxiously, know- 
ing she was proud and ambitious and would be 
eager to show her gratitude to the Pudneys. But 
Yesta greeted his warning with a merry laugh. 

“0 my goodness! I can't find anything to do! 
I'm a supernumerary here, I assure you. Doctor. 
All I have to do is to run around asking everybody 
if there isn't something I can do. Mrs. Pudney 
knows that.” 

“ You do enough, Yesta,” said Mrs. Pudney. “ I'm 
sure you are busy all the time.” 

“ Oh, you say that because you are so good and 
kind,” returned Yesta, her face beautiful with the 
glow of gratitude. 

Mrs. Pudney smiled benevolently and fondly upon 
her; and Pudney, who had heard the doctor’s ques- 
tion about the overwork with jealous alarm, listened 
to Yesta's replies with gratified vanity. 

“I'm glad to hear Yesty say we don't make her 
work hard,” he said. “ I don't let nobody be im- 
posed upon under my roof. Y esty, set down. What 
you standin' up for ? ” 

Yesta, haying finished passing around the coffee, 
seated herself, not as a servant who dares not sit in 
the presence of her master without permission, but 
as a guest who politely awaits the invitation, taking 
the chair offered her with perfect dignity and simple 


118 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


grace but without affectation or assumption; for 
grace is the natural companion of dignity and self- 
respect, while boorishness and awkwardness keep 
company with humility and self-abasement. 

Mackintosh seemed pervaded with delight in her 
presence and unable to remove his eyes from her 
face. As if to furnish an excuse for looking at her, 
and to keep her gaze upon him, he began making 
inquiries about her mother. The conversation was 
not profound. Indeed, it bordered close upon drivel. 

“ Did your mother take that medicine I left her ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, Doctor, mother would be sure to take 
anything you left her; though that was dreadful 
stuff.” 

“ How do you know ? Did you taste of it ? ” His 
tones were such as one uses in talking to a pretty 
babe. 

The young ladies were indignant and disgusted 
and it must be confessed, not without some reason 
though their anger was due not so much to the 
inanity of the conversation as to the tones and 
glances that accompanied it, and to the fact that a 
servant was monopolizing their distinguished guest. 

“ Yes, Doctor, your medicine is confounded nasty 
stuff to take,” interposed Pudney; but the remark 
from a large, bewhiskered mouth bore no interest 
to Mackintosh. It was vapidity and silliness. He 
took no notice of it but continued the same line of 
what was to others, imbecile conversation, with 
Vesta Dodd till the meal was over. 

By this time the two Miss Pudneys had both 
made up their minds not to marry him at all and. 
were taking the utmost pains to exhibit their con- 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


119 


tempt for liis vulgar and degraded tastes and to let 
Miss Dodd understand that she was only a menial 
whom they despised. 

M But when they left the table and the doctor, after 
shaking hands again with Miss Dodd and hanging 
over her a moment talking in a low tone, left her in 
the dining-room to clear off the table and accom- 
panied their father and mother into the parlor, they 
concluded to condone this offense along with the 
rest and reserve punishment till after they married 
him. 

u Come, gals, give us some music! ” cried Pudney 
bent on showing his daughters off and letting Mack- 
intosh see what he had got for his money — the 
money he had paid so lavishly to that old fraud, 
Madame Torquille who was always thinking more 
of her bank account than of her soul's salvation and 
certainly vastly more than she did of her young 
ladies' education. " Laura, you begin. Give us that 
piece you play so much. Guess you know the one 
I mean. I kinder like the sound of that.” 

" I think you mean f Souvient Toi ' — that's your 
favorite,” airily replied Miss Laura. She was not a 
little chagrined at her father's calling it "that piece 
you play so much;” but she seated herself with a 
great affectation of musical preeminence and banged 
up and down the keys at a tremendous rate. 

Mackintosh, however, was preoccupied and absent- 
minded, only rousing up in time to say, as the horrid 
racket ended in sweet silence, "First rate! first 
rate ! Play something more ! ” 

" Play Ernani, Laura,” lisped Miss Harriet. 

"Ernani? Would you like to hear Ernani, Doc- 


120 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


tor?” murmured Miss Laura sweetly from the 
piano stool. 

“Yes, Ernani, that’ll he nice/’ abstractedly re- 
turned the doctor. 

Miss Pudney banged the piano again and Mackin- 
tosh relapsed into his former absent-mindedness. 
The young lady ended this time with the considerate 
remark that she thought they didn’t want to hear 
any more. 

“Yes, yes, go on,” cried the doctor. 

“ Play that other piece,” cried Pudney. 

“What other piece ?” warbled Miss Laura laugh- 
ing indulgently at her father’s simplicity. 

“ That other piece you are always playing.” 

“ Play <r Tam O’Shanter,’ ” cried Miss Harriet to 
simplify the matter. 

Miss Pudney struck the keys again. 

“Yes, that’s it!” cried Pudney, rather proud of 
himself for recognizing it. He had heard it every 
day since the accomplished young lady’s return. 

Miss Pudney was in the midst of this rattling 
piece when Yesta Dodd made her appearance with 
an ice-pitcher. Instantly the abstracted look with 
which Mackintosh had listened to the music van- 
ished. His face was aglow again with joy; and 
springing to his feet, he hurried to her assistance. 
Pudney heard him ask her to stay and hear the 
music; and he joined in the invitation; but with a 
very pretty pantomime she declined and bowed 
herself out, followed by the pleased gaze of every one 
in the room, the two Miss Pudneys only excepted. 

“Poor girl!” murmured Mackintosh, “she was 
terribly disappointed about her school ; and see how 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


121 


bravely she bears it! Undoubtedly she left home 
because she knew her father begrudged her every 
morsel she ate.” 

, At this moment, Tam O’Shanter came to an end 
with a crash; and Pudney replied to Mackintosh's 
last remark. 

“Yes, Vesty's a good girl. I don't see how Dodd 
could have the heart to begrudge her her livin'. I 
never saw, whenever I was there, but what she was 
always workin'. Even now she knits evenin's for 
her mother.” 

“Well, now, that isn't right!” cried -the doctor 
quickly. “ Mrs. Pudney, you ought to try to dissuade 
her from that! She’ll ruin her health sitting up 
late nights just like her mother. I know all about 
that. You remember I boarded with them the last 
winter I was at college. Mrs. Dodd used to sit up 
till twelve or one o'clock knitting sale stockings. I 
know, because I sat up studying; and she made me 
study in the kitchen with her to save lamplight. 
I trust you will see to it, Mrs. Pudney, that Yesta 
doesn't overwork herself.” 

Mrs. Pudney cordially gave the promise and Mack- 
intosh turned to the young ladies with the remark, 
“ She was onty a child when I boarded at her father's. 
I taught her algebra, evenings, and I can't help 
taking a great deal of interest in her.” 

“How droll, though, for a servant to study alge- 
bra,” cried Miss Pudney, but taking care that her 
father should not hear the remark. 

Mackintosh opened his eyes and looked at her 
attentively; but whether he concluded that she was 
ignorant of the opprobrium of the term she used, or 


122 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


whether he thought the word free from odium, he 
merely remarked quietly and as if the subject was 
one he liked to dwell on, “Miss Dodd is a very es- 
timable young lady; and she is a very good scholar. 
I think a great deal of Miss Dodd. I’ve known her 
now a long time. She plays on the piano, too, very 
nicely; and she is a charming singer. She has a 
voice like a bird. But poor girl ! she had a hard 
struggle of it to get any education at all. Her 
father is very close ; so is her mother. They wanted 
to keep her knitting all the time though her mother 
did try to give her some chance.” 

Pudney had slipped unobserved from the room as 
soon as Mackintosh began talking to the young 
ladies; and Mrs. Pudney, knowing her husband's 
wishes, felt bound to follow. The young ladies, had, 
therefore, every opportunity to engraft their modern 
ideas upon the doctor’s wild nature. 

“ I think,” said Miss Pudney, magnificently, “ that 
the less education the laboring classes have, the 
better.” 

“ What! ” shouted the doctor looking at her with 
a shocked expression ; and then, as if thinking this 
hard-working stone-cutter’s daughter was only a 
foolish child not worth noticing, he burst out laugh- 
ing. “I never would have thought your father’s 
child could have been such a Bourbon ! ” Then look- 
ing around laughingly to see what her father and 
mother had to say about it, and discovering their 
absence, he said, “ I hope your father hasn’t gone 
off anywhere. I have a consultation at six. My 
carriage ought to be here now.” 

His carriage was announced the next moment; 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


123 


and when, in seeking- to take his leave of his host 
and hostess, it was discovered that Pudney had 
gone out for a drive, and that Mrs. Pudney had gone 
, down to the shore. Mackintosh, after one dazed mo- 
ment of blank amazement at such treatment, sud- 
denly recalled Pudney’s remarks at Mrs. Walp’s 
party — the first time he had thought of the matter 
since that evening; and turning towards the young 
ladies, he scanned them both with an amused ex- 
pression. He had forgotten which was the elder, 
and wondered, for a moment, which one Pudney 
designed him to marry, but remembered at last, 
that he was given his choice. 

“ Well, young ladies,” he said, extending his hand, 
“I’ve had a very pleasant afternoon. You must 
excuse me to your father and mother for leaving 
before their return. Good bye ! ” 

The young ladies had walked with him through 
the spacious hall to the. broad piazza at the foot of 
which stood the waiting carriage. 

“ I hope we shall see you often at Seaview,” mur- 
mured Miss Pudney. 

“ Thank you, thank you ! It won’t be for want of 
finding charming company here if I don’t come,” 
he replied. “ 1 wonder where I shall find Miss Dodd. 
I must say good bye to her.” 

“ Oh, I think you’ll have to go around to the back- 
door to find ‘ Miss Dodd,’ ” replied Miss Pudney with 
a sneering laugh. 

“ Thank you,” replied the doctor; and he lifted his 
hat in token of his final leave taking; and the last 
the young ladies saw of him, he was hurrying around 
to the rear of the house while his coachman awaited 
him on the box. 


124 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


CHAPTER XII. 

MISS pudney’s triumphant humiliation. 

The two eldest Miss Pudneys had begun to think 
they were becoming preeminent at home. Their 
social triumphs had so augmented their father’s 
awe of their stylish manners, their aristocratic airs, 
their unblushing self-confidence, and their cool self- 
possession, virtues which he would have been willing 
to give his check for a large sum to possess, that he 
could hardly keep his countenance when they ad- 
dressed him. 

The young ladies, were, therefore, dreaming of the 
hour when they should exercise full sway at Sea- 
view. In the mean time they had resolved on teach- 
ing Miss Dodd her place and determined to awaken 
her to the true status of a serving-maid. Not that 
they had forgotten the disastrous results of their 
recent tutelage of Miss Jewell. But that was before 
they became dominant at home. Their father was 
trained in now; and they decided to take Miss Dodd 
in hand without delay. 

The opportunity presented itself the very next 
day after Mackintosh’s visit when two young friends, 
Miss Blanche Simpson, daughter of the great Mrs. 
Slacksalted Codfish Simpson, and her cousin. Miss 
Maude Tucker, whose father had amassed an im- 
mense fortune in putting up red herring, were visit-* 
ing them. 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


125 


The young’ ladies were walking about the lawn 
awaiting the dinner-bell, an elegant, dainty quar- 
tette in airy summer costume. 

A short distance below the house, at the rear, 
was a rustic pavilion covering a natural spring of 
clear cold water, Pudney ’s favorite beverage for 
dinner. The young ladies approached the pavilion, 
elegantly laughing and chatting, when they discov- 
ered that Yesta Dodd was inside drawing water. 

“Here’s papa’s favorite spring of water,” cried 
Miss Pudney, “ and this,” she added derisively, “ is 
our favorite servant.” 

A few moments later. Miss Pillsbury, the cook, 
happening to glance out of the kitchen window, saw 
the four young ladies toiling up the hill, scarcely 
able to put one foot before the other. 

“ Good Lord ! come look ahere ! ” she cried to her 
assistant, Lydia Jewell. “Is it possible those girls 
have ben in bathin’ in those good clo’es! What 
actions ! And here’s dinner ready to go on the table 
and they’ve got to dress ! ” 

Pudney was not at home to dinner that day; and 
the young ladies said nothing of their inglorious at- 
tempt to teach Miss Dodd her place. Yesta herself 
breathed not a word of it to any human being but 
her mother. Her mother, however, whispered it in 
sacred confidence to her father; and Dodd was so 
proud of “that darter” of his that he boasted of it 
to his fellow workmen; and then it reached Pud- 
ney. 

“You’ve ben callin names in my houseagain ! ” he 
roared, bursting violently upon the haughty pair, 
“and I’m bound to put a stop to it. You’ve got to 


126 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


go to Yesty Dodd and apologize to her for callin' 
her a servant. Do you hear ? " 

Miss Pudney momentarily forgot everything she 
wanted— the saddle horse, the ponies, everything; 
and turning grandly upon her father she cried out 
haughtily : 

“ Never, sir! never! Sooner than apologize to 
Yesta Dodd or any other servant, for she is a ser- 
vant, I would throw myself into the ocean and put 
an end to this terrible existence ! " 

Pudney was astounded at this open revolt; hut 
he recovered himself in an instant. 

“ By God ! " he roared, “ either you'll apologize to 
Yesty Dodd inside of twenty- four hours or pack 
your trunk and leave my house. You're of age. I 
don't care what becomes of you. You can go off bo 
the factory and earn your livin' for all I care. Make 
up your mind what to do by this time to-morrow." 

He strode out of the room; and the two sisters 
looked into each other's faces, Harriet appalled and 
overcome with excitement, Laura sustained her 
resolution of defiance. She had immediately deter- 
mined to leave her father's roof and seek shelter 
with her aunt ; and with this magnificent alterna- 
tive in view, she cried fiercely : 

“ The brute ! The cowardly ruffian ! " Then she 
rang the hell savagely. “ I want the carriage for 
Absequam. I must go to Aunt Sue." 

The bell was answered in due course of time; hut 
it was the master of the house who responded to the 
summons. 

“What do you want?" he demanded sternly. 

Laura was aghast for a moment ; but quickly re- 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


127 


covering her self-possession and her impudence, she 
replied imperiously : “ I want the carriage for Abse- 
quam, sir." 

“You've got legs, madam," retorted her father. 
“If you want to go to Absequam you can walk. 
You can’t have my carriage." 

He closed the door and left her. 

“ If this isn't a pretty state of affairs ! " gasped 
Laura, sinking helplessly into a chair defeated and 
despairing. “ What shall I do! " 

“ It’s quite likely Aunt Sue will call on her way 
home from making calls," suggested Harriet. 

“ Heaven knows I hope so ! " cried Laura fervently. 
“ I shall ask Aunt Sue to take me to Absequam and 
to demand an allowance from him for me. I’m 
sure it will be a blessed change for me to go to 
Absequam to live! Thank heaven, at Absequam 
the servants are as black as soot and can't presume 
to consider themselves anybody's equal." 

Soothing herself with these cheerful reflections, 
Miss Pudney existed another hour or two, when the 
door softly opened and her charming aunt tripped 
softly into the room looking very apprehensive. 

“You dears!" she cried in sympathetic tones, 
“what in the world has happened? Something 
awful, surely. I saw that when I met your father 
as I came in. He looks awfully glum. Tell me for 
heaven's sake, what's the matter ? " 

“ Oh, the brute, the ruffian ! " cried Laura. “ He's 
heard about the Dodd affair!" 

“Odear! Just as I expected! Well? Goon!" 

The two girls narrated the particulars of their 
father's descent upon them, and their aunt listened 
breathlessly. 


128 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


“ O dear, dear, what a pity you ever said anything* 
to that girl ! If you had only been warned by me ! 
Heaven knows I was capable of' advising you after 
all the trouble I had here. Haven’t I told you a 
thousand times that Yankee girls won’t stand it to 
be called servants and treated as inferiors ? Dear 
me! don’t you know a Hew England farmer’s 
daughter considers herself as good as a queen ? It’s 
very foolish of them of course,” she added with the 
air of a philosopher, forgetting that she was a Hew 
England farmer’s daughter herself, and that, but 
for those very qualities that she decried, she herself 
would never have gone to Bucksport, never have 
become a great society queen, and that Absequam, 
nay, even the quarry itself had not been. “You 
can’t treat such girls as Lydia Jewell and Yesta 
Dodd as you can Madame Torquille’s French lackeys 
or my darkeys. Oh, if you had only remembered 
what I have so often told you ! How see the fix you 
are in! How trying and humiliating for you to 
have to apologize to that girl ! ” 

“ Do you think I shall ever do it, Aunt Sue ? ” 
cried Laura in indignant astonishment. 

“ My dear Laura, yes! you must! What can you 
do? Your father will never relent. I know him 
too well.” 

“ I shall never do it.” 

“But consider the alternative, you foolish child.” 

“ Why Aunt Sue, I want you to take me to Abse- 
quam and make father grant me an allowance.” 

“O my good gracious heavens, no, no, no! My 
dear child, you don’t know what you talk about. 
Think how many rows^ I’ve had to make up with 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


129 


that old wretch just to keep peace between your 
father and your Uncle Tom! Consider, dear, they 
are partners. If we should take you to Absequam, 
do you think your father would ever forgive us ? 
Mercy, no ! It’s out of the question. Then as to 
'making* him grant you an allowance, you don’t 
know your father. You might as well try to move 
Mount Katahdin; and you know I couldn’t stand 
any more expenses with Absequam to keep up.” 

Miss Pudney gazed at her aunt with one pro- 
longed, stony stare and then swept from the room 
without a word and locked the door behind her. 

"Dear me!” cried Mrs. Walp, as she heard the 
lock turn, "now she’s mad with me!” and going to 
the door she called, " Laura, Laura, let me in, dear. 
I want to talk with you, child;” but Laura gave 
no answer; and after a few words of regret and 
condolence with her other niece, she took her 
leave. 

Laura remained locked in her room the remainder 
of the day and all the next forenoon seeing only her 
sister, Harriet, who surreptitiously brought her 
something to eat. Her mother came to the door 
several times rapping for admittance and begging 
to speak with her; but she made no response; then 
Emmie came with notes from her mother but was 
forced to tuck them under the door. 

But when the dinner-bell rang at three she opened 
her door and came forth. It was the twenty-third 
hour of her probation. The other members of the 
family were already in the dining-room, Pudney, 
looking pale but fierce and resolute, Mrs. Pudney, 
haggard and worried, and Harriet, frigid and 
9 


130 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


haughty. Miss Dodd was waiting on the table in 
sorrowful silence. 

Then the door opened and Laura entered. 

Her father looked at her confounded. Her mother 
almost fainted. But Miss Pudney seemed to see 
nothing unusual in their faces'. She seemed self- 
complacent and self-contained; and she was gor- 
geously arrayed and wore a magnificent diamond 
bracelet on her wrist. 

“Bon jour, mamma, bon jour, papa,” she cried 
fashionably; and then turning to Yesta Dodd who 
stood spell-bound, she exclaimed with a fine alfecta- 
tion of a gracious, magnanimous smile, “ Miss Dodd, 
papa and mamma think I ought to apologize for 
calling you a servant the other day. In Boston 
where I was educated, we were taught to call those 
who waited upon us servants. I was not aware the 
term was offensive. I hope yo.u will pardon me ; ” 
and taking from her arm the bracelet studded with 
diamonds and for which Pudney himself had paid 
a thousand dollars, she added sweetly, “Accept this, 
Miss Dodd, as a peace-offering and a token of my 
good will.” 

Her father listened to the first portion of this 
apology dumbfounded; but he knew her mother had 
been writing her letters full of Scripture all the 
morning and he thought perhaps she had been con- 
verted, or, as he phrased it, that she had “ experi- * 
enced religion;” he felt his own sinful soul dwin- 
dling into insignificance in the presence of such a 
magnanimous, holy spirit; but when he saw the 
thousand dollar bracelet passing into the ownership 
of an alien and. a stranger, his eyes blinked. He was 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


131 


liberal enough in his own household and lavish of 
his means for the personal adornment of his own 
flesh and blood ; but he liked to keep his money in 
,, the family; yet he spoke not a word and bore the 
smart like a stoic; and when Yesta demurred at 
accepting a gift so valuable, he encouraged her by 
saying : 

“Take it, Yesty, take it,” and thus urged, Yesta 
took the bracelet and holding it tenderly in her 
hands, she said with quiet dignit3 r : 

“ If you meant no offense, Miss Pudney, I am sorry 
I took offense. I was too hasty; and I hope you 
will overlook what I did.” 

“ O Miss Dodd, don’t think of it again,” returned 
Miss Pudney superbly, seating herself ab the table. 
“Come to my room after dinner, Miss Dodd, and I 
will see if I can’t find something else to give you,” 
and thus once more Miss Pudney had gained the 
ascendency over her father. 

He was puzzled to know what to make of it. It 
was unfathomable save on the religious theory; and 
to his mind, religion could account for any eccen- 
tricity or phenomenon in human actions. He was 
ready to believe that the most depraved and aban- 
doned creature on earth could, in one instant, by 
“ experiencing religion ” — with one flash of the divine 
glory upon him, be converted into a “ wliite-souled ” 
Christian full of holiness and the grace of God; and 
thinking that his daughter had undergone this mar- 
velous metamorphosis, he sat once again in her pres- 
ence, overawed, awkward and fidgety; and Miss 
Laura saw it all, and enjoyed her triumph. Two 
hours before she was as far from seeing her way 


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gracefully out of her dilemma as when her aunt so 
heartlessly abandoned her; but a letter from her 
despised mother had suddenly furnished her with 
an idea. “Apologize to Vesta/’ said her mother, 
“ like a good Christian girl.” 

She read the words with disgust and derision; 
then the next moment it occurred to her, all at 
once, that by playing the good Christian girl role, 
she might at once overawe her father and Vesta 
Dodd and make them both feel very small; and by 
giving the latter something valuable before her 
father’s eyes, she could wreak an exquisite revenge 
upon her penurious parent. 

After dinner, fearing that Vesta might be too 
proud to come for the promised gifts, she sent for 
her, and, her father no longer present, she proceeded 
to maintain the ascendency she had acquired. 

“I’ve picked out quite a pile of useful things for 
you. Miss Dodd,” she said with a grand, benevolent 
air, “things I no longer have any use for,” she 
added with elegant and easy superiority; and she 
filled Vesta’s lap with articles the gift of which she 
thought would humiliate and mortify her, while the 
manner of the giving was such that she could not 
refuse anything especially after accepting the brace- 
let — dresses that had met with an accident, half- 
worn shoes, a bonnet whose glory had departed, and 
bits of broken finery. * 

But she was mistaken as to Vesta Dodd’s feelings. 
That young woman, with a full share of the ruling 
passion of the people of her section of the United 
States, saw a use for everything dropped into her 
lap and went off very happy with her armful, and 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


133 


without the faintest idea that she had suffered any 
indignity in being presented with old clothes and 
worn shoes, or that she had taken an humble posi- 
tion in accepting articles that would be so useful 
to her. 

As she was crossing the hall she met Pudney. 

“ O see ! ” she cried with a radiant face, “ your 
daughter is a perfect saint! She has given me a 
lot of silk dresses and jewelry, and goodness knows 
what all ! ” 

“ That’s right ! That’s right ! ” returned Pudney 
trying to look approving and benevolent, too. He 
had heard of women at camp-meeting who had torn 
the rings from their fingers in a religious frenzy, to 
put them into the contribution-box. Perhaps Laura 
had the camp-meeting craze. Her mother must 
have overdone the Scripture quotation business. 
Lib was always a little apt to pile it on rather 
heavy. This thing must be stopped or the girl 
would give away everything in the house. 

He went to his wife’s room. 

“ Say, Lib,” he exclaimed, “ Pve ben thinkin’ Laura 
can’t help feelin’ kinder cheap every time she and 
Yesty runs across each other. I know ’twould be 
awful gallin’ to me. How long’s she’s done what I 
told her, and done it first class, she hadn’t ought to 
have her feelin’s hurt any more; and I guess Yesty 
can’t help feelin’ a little sore, too, for all. I guess 
you better get Yesty a good place somewhere else. 
Let her stay here till you can find her a good pleas- 
ant place, you know, where she wunt have to work 
too hard and can get a chance to knit for herself 
some.” 


134 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

VESTA DODD’S NEW PLACE. 

A few days later, Mackintosh, making’ the rounds 
of his patients, seized the opportunity to stop at 
Pudney’s. He had hut a moment to spare; and 
instead of ringing the front door-hell and leaving 
cards for the ladies, the distinguished physician 
jumped out of his carriage and hurried around to 
the hack door. 

It was a warm day and the doors and windows 
of the kitchen being open, the doctor had an unob- 
structed view of the life going on within. Promi- 
nent among the dramatis personae was Miss Almira 
Pillsbury, Pudney’s cook, whose father owned one 
of the largest farms in the State of Maine and had 
money out at interest when Pudne.y was a day 
laborer. He was dead now; and his will gave the 
widow everything for life — he would not have dared 
to give her any less, his very corpse would have 
trembled at her wrath; though he took the liberty * 
to provide that his children should have a home at 
the old place whenever they chose to abide there. 
But the widow Pillsbury was so wondrously endowed 
^vvith all those vigorous qualities which compose a 
smart, energetic Yankee woman, and possessed, 
withal, such a gifted and indefatigable tongue, 
together with a disposition to take a singularly 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


135 


pessimistic view of everything said and done by 
everybody but herself, particularly by her own off- 
spring, that this provision of their father's will was 
„one of which the widow's children rarely availed 
themselves; for if they agreed in nothing else, they 
were unanimous in the opinion that “Marm is a 
devil." Almira, for one, would have spurned the 
idea of living at home as long as she could raise her 
hand to her head. 

She could earn her living in a dozen different 
ways. She could work at tailoring if she chose. 
She could make dresses, and trim bonnets, and do 
all kinds of fine sewing and embroidery, and take 
stitches you would have to hunt up with a micro- 
scope. She was unsurpassed as a laundress; she 
delighted in bleaching linen and muslin as white as 
the driven snow; and she was a mine of wisdom on 
the subject of removing all kinds of stains. She had 
often gone out nursing, too, and often, in backwoods 
places, she had been nurse and doctor both and 
enjoyed nothing better than giving sweats, emetics, 
and herb teas, and making gruel, broth, beef tea, 
and toast for her patients. 

But if there was one thing that she could do 
better than another, perhaps it was cooking; and 
she was no mere imitator, no cook-book slave. Hers 
was the creative talent. She invented a new dish 
every day. She had been Pudney 's cook six years ; 
and in all that time nothing had ever been wasted. 
If anything was left over, it passed through Miss 
Pillsbury's recreative hands and turned up again in 
some piquant and appetizing dish of her own inven- 
tion. 


136 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


Personally she was no sylph. She was five feet 
eleven inches in height, with great broad, bony 
shoulders, a great flat waist, and great, red, bony 
hands. Her jet black hair, was always combed 
down smooth, flat, and shining over her ears; and 
her age, which she was ready to tell any time, and 
which increased every year, was in the near reach 
of the forties. 

When Mackintosh rounded the corner of the 
porch and appeared before Miss Pillsbury’s domin- 
ions, he heard the beating of eggs and the sound of 
a woman’s voice. Miss Pillsbury was making cake 
and conversing with some friends who were spend- 
ing the afternoon with her — two staid, dignified 
matrons, neatly attired, decorously talking while 
their fingers were busy with their knitting-needles; 
and though their hands were rough and hardened 
with work of which they never thought of being 
ashamed or tired, and their dresses were cheap and 
a year or so old, their speech, but for the provin- 
cialisms not heard exclusively amongst the hard- 
handed, was correct and clean, their sentiments 
worthy, and the subjects of their conversation, if 
not abstract and abstruse, were, at least, sensible, 
pure, and healthy, and such as served for an inter- ' 
change of the stored-up practical wisdom of the 
talkers, and thereby to inspire and encourage one 
another in their daily toil and in well-doing, and to 
enkindle and keep alive in their hearts, just opinions, 
virtuous sentiments, and a love of honest lives. 

Miss Pillsbury’s kitchen was worthy of herself 
and of her friends. It was a vast room with four 
windows, before each of which flourished tall, well- 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


137 


to-do house plants nurtured by Miss Pillsbury’s own 
hand. The floor was painted blue and partially 
covered with handsome, braided rugs of lively hues; 
, the window curtains, by Miss Pillsbury’s own desire, 
were white, expressly to prove that they were clean; 
and Miss Pillsbury herself, for the same reason, 
always wore a long white apron at her work. 

“ Charity covers a multitude of sins,” she would 
say, “ and a colored apron hides a peck o’ dirt.” 

When Mackintosh passed the kitchen window. 
Miss Pillsbury came forward and welcomed the dis- 
tinguished surgeon as hospitably as though she 
owned the house, offered him her great hard, red 
hand, which Mackintosh, who knew her well, shook 
cordially, and ceremoniously introduced her visitors 
to whom the great man bowed with as much respect 
as though he met them in a parlor clad in silks. 
This over, he hurriedly inquired for Miss Dodd. 

“Miss Dodd ! ” screamed Miss Pillsbury. “ Why, 
don’t you know ? Haven’t you heard ? ” 

“No! no! What is it? “cried 'the doctor in 
alarm. “ What’s happened ? ” 

“ O my goodness gracious. Doctor, if you don’t 
know anything about it, take a seat. It’s a long 
story.” * 

“ I can’t stop, Miss Pillsbury, thank you. What’s 
become of Miss Dodd ? ” 

But all the doctor had learned when he sprang 
back into his carriage was that Miss Dodd had 
gone, that Mrs. Pudney was trying to find her 
another place, and that Pudney— Pudney— but it 
was not clear about Pudney; and the whys and 
wherefores of everything were singularly obscure; 


138 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


for the more Miss Pillsbury knew about anything-, 
the less she could tell in a hurry. She wanted to 
begin at the beginning and tell him everything. 
She knew if she told him only a part, he would be 
left to his imagination for the rest and might draw 
some very unjust inferences and think very wrong 
thoughts. 

He looked at his watch as his carriage rolled 
rapidly down the hill and wished it were possible 
to drive around to the Dodd’s at once; but the Dodd 
residence was not on his route, for truth to tell. 
Mackintosh was not in the least modest in his 
charges; and his patients were not often among the 
stone-cutters. The matter was on his mind two 
days before he could find an opportunity to call and 
even then he was pressed for time. 

As he sprang out of his carriage and swept the 
front of the little house with a rapid glance, he 
began to fear that Vesta had left home again; for 
though it was late in the afternoon of a warm day, 
the whole front of the house was closed and wore 
an uninhabited aspect. He rang twice before the 
door was opened; and then Vesta stood before him 
with a pallid face and eyes red from weeping. 

“ O Doctor!” she cried, “why didn’t you come 
before ! Mother is sick abed. O I’m afraid she’s 
going to die.” 

“ Had you sent for me ? ” cried Mackintosh in as- 
tonishment. 

“No, no,” returned Vesta in alarm, even in her 
tribulation, at the thought of incurring a bill. “ We 
didn’t send for you; mother wouldn’t let me. We’ve 
been expecting you’d, call every day —to see mother,” 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


139 


she added, casting down her eyes. “ Will 3^ou come 
up to mother’s room ? ” 

“Vesta,” cried Mackintosh earnestly, “never 
hesitate again to send for me at any hour of the 
day or night when any one near and dear to you 
requires my services. I shall never charge 3-our 
f amity anythi ng.” 

“ O Doctor ! ” cried Vesta, “you are so good.” 

They went up stairs. Mackintosh delicately re- 
fraining from letting her know how time pressed, 
and absorbed in gazing into the face at his side, he 
saw nothing of the rolls of dirt in the corners of 
the stairs nor the dust on the balustrade. The 
carpet in the sick room looked as though it had not 
been swept for a month; hut the physician saw 
only the sick woman on the bed. Her face looked 
perfectly fieshless. The cavernous sockets of her 
eyes were deeper and blacker; her saffron colored 
skin was covered with strange, dark, livid spots like 
a corpse in which decomposition has begun, making 
her a painfully frightful object to behold. Added 
to this, she lay limp and lifeless on her pillow; and 
though her great dark ey-es were staring wide open 
and followed every movement of those in the room 
with distressing alertness, and with an intense 
eagerness to express some ardent wish, she could 
neither speak nor raise her hand. 

Mackintosh hastened to administer a dose of 
medicine from his pocket-case; and then, writing 
a prescription, he sent it by his coachman to be 
filled, putting his hand into his own pocket for the 
requisite funds. 

While he waited to observe the effect of this prep- 


140 


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aration, Dodd entered the room. It was his dinner 
hour and this was the third day he had come home 
and found no dinner ready. He nodded with an 
irresponsible air to Mackintosh, and stood looking’ 
on disconsolately while the ph} 7 sician, bending over 
his patient, was trying to understand her broken 
sentences. 

“ How long — ” she gasped, “ how long ” 

“ She wants to know how long she's goin’ to be 
sick, I guess," said Dodd, “ and that’s what I’d like 
to know. Doctor. The house has ben all up in 
arms for a week, now.’’ 

“ You must be patient,’’ said the doctor to the sick 
woman. Then turning to Y esta he said, “ I must 
go now; but I will come back this evening and stay 
as long as I can.’’ 

“ Doctor,’’ cried Yesta following him into the hall, 
“you don’t think mother is in an} 7 danger, do you ? ’’ 

“Yesta,’’ returned Mackintosh gravely, “your 
mother is very low. You must be prepared for 
anything that may happen.’’ 

Yesta, choking with sobs, turned away without a 
word ; and the dcotor hurried down the stairs. At 
the front door he was overtaken by Dodd looking 
blue and despondent. 

“ What ’pears to be the matter with Betsey, 
Doctor ? ’’ 

“Death!’’ returned the doctor, regarding him 
sternly. 

“ O Lordy ! ’’ cried Dodd, catching his breath. 
“You don’t mean Betsey’s goin’ to die? I can’t 
b’lieve that ! What ails her. Doctor ? ’’ 

“Old age !’’ returned Mackintosh severely. 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


141 


"Old age l” echoed Dodd incredulously, "why, 
Betsey hain't only forty-four ! ” 

"People die of old age at any time of life, Mr. 
Dodd, when they are all worn out and used up. 
That is the condition of your wife. It should not 
be a matter of surprise to you to hear that. You 
know how she has spent herself in working twenty 
hours out of the twenty-four. You remember I 
always told you she would go this way.” 

" I know Betsey has always worked hard,” replied 
Dodd keenly feeling the reproach contained in the 
doctor's words and tones; "hut so have I.” 

Disregarding Dodd's defense, Mackintosh turned 
to go, saying hastily, " I will be in and see your wife 
this evening.'' 

"Well, sir,'' quickly returned Dodd, ignorant of 
his bargain with Yesta concerning the charges, "as 
you like about that.” 

"I have promised Yesta I would come,” returned 
the doctor dryly. 

As he drove away, Dodd went into the back part 
of the house and looked dolorously around. The 
fire was out in the kitchen stove; and the cupboard 
contained nothing cooked but a plateful of cold 
pork and beans. 

" Wall,” he thought, " this is hard ! Betsey down 
sick " (as for her dying that he did not believe for 
one moment), "and Vesty out of work ! Things do 
look blue ! ” 

He washed down the cold beans with a quart of 
cold water; and then, uneasy at the bare possibility 
of Betsey's dying, he went upstairs, hoping that 
Mackintosh had confided to Yesta his real opinion. 


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By this time the doctor’s medicine and a little 
extract of beef which he had directed his man to 
buy, had so revived the sick woman, that when he 
opened the door, he was surprised and delighted to 
find she was propped up with several pillows behind 
her back; but her dead- white hands lay on the bed- 
clothes before her, idle. How many times before, 
in her illness, he had seen her sitting that way, but 
always with her knitting-work in her hands. 

“ Why, hullo w ! ” he cried with a pleased look, his 
heart lightened in an instant of its awful burden, 
“ why, I guess you hain’t agoin’ to die this hitch ! 
Why don’t you call on for your knittin’-work, old 
woman? Ye liain’t knit your stent to-day. I’ll be 
bound.” 

“ Aren’t you ashamed of yourself ! ” cried Yesta, 
indignantly. 

“ Your father’s only jokin’, Yesta,” interposed her 
mother in a faint voice. 

“ It’s a pretty time to joke ! ” cried Yesta. “ You 
needn’t think mother’s well already. She wanted 
to be bolstered up because she thinks she feels better 
so.” 

"I can breathe better this way,” added Mrs. 
Dodd faintly, though, as a matter of fact, she felt 
very faint and giddy propped up, but insisted on 
taking that position, her favorite pose when con- 
fined to her bed, in order to forestall nature and the 
medicine in the recovery of her strength. “I shall 
be able to knit in a few minutes. Yesta, before you 
leave the room, put my knitting-work where I can 
reach it.” 

“I’d like to see myself do that ! You better wait 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


143 


till you can lift your hand to your head before you 
talk about knitting.” 

Mrs. Dodd dropped the contest for the moment, 
and looking* eag*erly and earnestly at her husband, 
asked anxiousty, “ Did the doctor say I was goin’ to 
die, Benjy?” 

“Yes, he did!” indignantly replied Dodd. 
“ Talked to me as if I was to blame for your bein’ 
sick, dodburn his impudence ! ” 

“ Father you ought to be ashamed ! ” screamed 
Vesta, as, looking at her mother, she found that 
her lower jaw had dropped, her lips had turned 
purple, and the livid spots on her skin had grown 
more vivid. 

“ Let me down ! ” she gasped. 

Vesta took the pillows from behind her mother’s 
back and gave her another dose of the medicine. 

“ You ought to be ashamed to come up here talk- 
ing so,” again cried Vesta to her father, the tears 
rolling down her cheeks. 

“ I hain’t ben sayin’ anythin’ as I know of,” re- 
turned Dodd huffily. “I only told you what Mack- 
intosh said. He said your mother was goin’ to die; 
but as I said before, I don’t see any signs of it. I’ve 
seen her sick too many times before. Mackintosh 
is a great hand to try to skeer people. Betsey, how 
do you feel now?” he asked anxiously. “I should 
think, much as you’ve ben sick, you hadn’t ought 
to get skeered at anything the doctors say. They 
like to make out you’re on your last legs so’s to git 
the credit of doin’ wonders if you git well. How 
many times you ben told you was goin’ to die I’d 
like to know? You liain’t agoin’ to die, not this 


144 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


hitch. You’ll live to go to my funeral, Bets. You’re 
as tough as a pitch pine knot. Wall, I’ve got to go 
hack to the quarry. Golly! I wish I could git a 
chance to lay ahed sick a little spell. But there’s 
no such luck for me. Vesty,” he added in a whin- 
ing voice, “ do try and cook me something for supper. 
I liain’t had a decent meal’s victuals this week.” 

“I will do the best I can,” returned Vesta ; and 
her father left them. 

“ Vesta,” murmured her mother feebty, "I feel 
better now. Bolster me up again. Give me some 
more of that medicine. It’s strengthenin’.” 

"Mother, I think you had better lie still.” 

“No, Vesta, I can't get my breath. Bolster me 
up. I feel better sitting up. There! that’s right! 
Now, Vesta, put my knittin’ work on the bed where 
I can reach it, and go down and put some peas on 
to boil. Your poor father will starve to death.” 

“ Mother, you are not going to touch your knit- 
ting-work.” 

“Yes, Vesta. I am not goin’ to let your father 
take any of our savin’s to pay for my coffin. I 
must knit and earn the money to pay for my 
burial.” 

“Mother, mother,” cried Vesta, the tears running 
down her cheeks, “don’t talk so. The doctor is 
coming again to-night. You will be well in a few 
days.” 

“ No, V esta. The doctor has told your father that 
I hain’t agoin’ to get well; and I know he’s right. 
Give me my knittin’ work. Where do you think 
the money’s to come from to pay for my coffin? 
You press out those stockin’s on the parlor table. 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


145 * 


Vesta; and Pll knit all I can; and if God will only 
spare me a little longer, I don't think but what I 
can knit enough so your father wunt have to draw 
' anything out of hank. O quick! Vesta, some more 
of that medicinej ” 

Vesta hurriedly gave her the required potion, 
then took the pillows from behind her mother’s 
back and gently laid her down. Her face had sud- 
denly grown strangely altered, aged, and haggard, 
her eyes closed, and her breathing became labored 
and audible. Vesta, terror-stricken, thought she 
was dying. At length she opened her eyes and 
looked vacantly about a moment, as if struggling 
to recover consciousness; then she murmured feebly: 

" Vesta, did you say the doctor was coinin’ again 
to-night ? ” 

"Yes mother,” sobbed Vesta. 

" I hope,” continued her mother, speaking with 
great difficulty, " I hope you didn’t ask him to 
come.” 

"No, mother, and besides,” she added, knowing 
what weighed on her mother’s mind, "he isn’t going 
to charge anything. He said so, mother.” 

" O, what a good man ! ” burst gratefully from the 
sick woman’s lips. She said no more and soon sank 
into a deep sleep. While she slept Mrs. Pudney, 
who had watched with her the night before, returned 
to her post; and Vesta went to look after her 
father’s peas. 

The sick woman wa s still sleeping when Dodd re- 
turned from his work. 

"You don’t say,” he whispered, tiptoeing his way 
into the room, "that Betsey’s ben sleepin’ all the 

io 


146 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


afternoon! Wall! I do say! Wisht I could git a 
chance to snooze half a day like that! Guess she’ll 
he mad to wake up and find out how much time 
she’s hen wastin’.” 

“ It is sleep like this that will restore her,” whis- 
pered Mrs. Pudney; but when Mackintosh came he 
undeceived them. 

“ She is a dying woman,” he said. 

But no one in the little group of watchers could 
believe it. Dodd was openly and indignantly in- 
credulous. Mrs. Pudney had seen her friend snatched 
hack from the jaws of death so many times that 
she still hoped on; while Yesta refused to give her 
mother up. 

At ten o’clock, Dodd, who had grown used to 
Betsey’s death-bed scenes, having been called up in 
the middle of the night a great many times to see 
her die, gave up the watch and went off to bed, 
telling them to call him if he was wanted. At 
midnight, Mrs. Pudney, whose own health was far 
from good, lay down in the adjoining room ready 
to return at a moment’s notice. 

Mackintosh alone remained with Yesta by the 
sick-bed. One dim kerosene lamp with a smoky 
chimney lighted the room; through the open window 
came the distant murmur of the invisible sea break- 
ing in endless monotone on the rocks; but all other 
sounds in the little city had ceased; and within the 
sick-room, the only sound audible was the ticking 
of the clock on the mantel. 

Left alone with Mackintosh, Yesta felt the in- 
fluence of his presence. It soothed her fears and 
encouraged her hopes. Her tears ceased to fall; 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


147 


and with childlike faith in his omnipotence, she 
whispered earnestly: 

" I cannot believe you will let mother die.” 

Mackintosh looked pityingly down into her tear- 
stained face. As long as her mother breathed he 
knew she would still hope on; and he had not the 
heart to bring her to untimely grief. 

At two o’clock he suddenly whispered: "Call 
your father and Mrs. Pudney. Tell them to come 
quickly.” 

Yesta flew to obey his command but still unable 
to realize what was coming. She returned to his 
side in a moment eagerly scanning his face. Mrs. 
Pudney, looking pale, wan, and frightened, followed 
her; and a moment later Dodd, looking very cross 
and incredulous, came in, rubbing his eyes and 
gaping. 

" What’s the matter?” he muttered peevishly. 

At that moment the sick woman’s eyes opened 
and fell with concern on his sleepy, sulky counte- 
nance, roved over his disheveled locks and scanty 
attire; and from him they turned to the remainder 
of the group and back again to him. 

" Benjy,” she murmured feebly, in pitying tones, 
" did they wake you up ? ” 

"Yes,” replied Dodd peevishly, sinking languidly 
into a chair by the bedside. Then turning to Yesta 
he snarled, "You’re always routin’ me out in 
the middle of the night ! I guess I wunt be good 
for much to-morrer,” and he gaped and yawned 
again. 

"Father,” cried Yesta in a whisper, the tears 
choking her utterance, "can’t you see that mother 


148 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


is very low ? There's no knowing- that she can live 
the night out. The doctor told me to call you.” 

“ Wall, wall, Pm here now,” returned her father 
sulkily. “ How you feelin’, Betsey- ? ” he asked im- 
patiently. “ Guess you hain't agoin' to die this 
hitch, he ye ? Doctor, how's Betsey now ? What 
you calc'latin' on ? ” 

Mackintosh returned his stolid, sleepy, insensible 
gaze with a stern, reproving look that immediately 
silenced his complaints. 

“ I hope Betsey hain't gettin' any wuss. Doctor ?” 
he murmured with a mortified air. 

Mackintosh made no immediate reply but hast- 
ened to administer to his patient some medicine he 
had prepared. The sick woman swallowed the dose; 
and her eyes again roved from one to the other. 
She attempted to speak but failed; and her eyes 
closed. 

“ Gone off to sleep again,” whispered Dodd with 
satisfaction, anticipating a speedy release for him- 
self. 

“ Tell him,” whispered Mackintosh to Mrs. Pud- 
ney, “that she is sinking fast. She is dying.” 

Mrs. Pudney bent down and whispered in his ear 
and his ruddy /face blanched; the perspiration 
started out on his forehead; and he sat as if struck 
dumb. Then recovering himself, he muttered be- 
tween his teeth, “ I don't b’lieve it ! It's all blamed 
nonsense ! I've seen her die too many times.” 

The next moment, the dying woman opened her 
eyes and rested them on her daughter, kneeling by 
her side; then turning them with an expression of 
agonized anxiety on Mackintosh who bent over the 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


149 


bed, she moaned, " What will become of Vesta when 
I am gone ? ” 

“Feel no concern for Vesta,” replied Mackintosh 
in a low tone. " I will take care of her if she will let 
me. Vesta, let your mother die in peace. Let her 
hear you promise that you will become my wife.” 

“ O I will, I will,” sobbed Vesta. " Mother, mother, 
don’t worry about me.” 

A peaceful, rested, contented expression over- 
spread the wasted, worn-out, prematurely aged 
face; then the eyes glazed; and Mackintosh, wind- 
ing his arm around the quivering form bending 
over the bed, closed the dead woman’s lids. 

The bereaved husband sat stunned and stupefied. 
Daylight, that morning, found him sitting dolorously 
in the kitchen with his arms folded on the table, 
while Mrs. Pudney, with the tears blinding her eyes, 
was getting his breakfast. 

"Wall, poor Bets,” he murmured, "she’s knit her 
last sock ! But I can’t hardly realize it ! It’s 
’stonishin’, ’stonishin’ ! ” he kept repeating. "It 
don’t seem possible ! It don’t seem possible ! I 
don’t see how I could ’a’ ben so mistaken. I always 
thought Betsey had an iron constootion. Wall, it’s 
a sat’sf action to me to look back and think I always 
done my best by her; but if I’d had the faintest 
notion she was so nigh death’s door, I’d ’a’ done a 
good many things diffrunt. I wish now I hadn’t 
never spoke a cross word to her. I noticed she was 
lookin’ oncommon sailer and pick-ed towards the 
last; and I set out, the other day, to bring her 
home an orange. I wish now I had.” 


150 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


CHAPTER XIY. 

MRS. MACKINTOSH. 

Mackintosh had never noticed that there was 
any such thing- as aristocracy in the United States. 
He had himself always been treated, wherever he 
went, with the highest respect by all classes; and 
he regarded his own career as a living- proof that 
there was no such thing-, in this country as caste, 
and grades, and classes of society; and in marrying 
Yesta Dodd he had no idea of astonishing anybody, 
unless, possibly, it might be the two Miss Pudneys 
and their papa, if he thought of them at all at that 
supreme moment of his existence. He knew well 
enough her father was uncouth, illiterate, sordid, 
and narrow-minded; and that he was a man with 
whom he himself had not a thought in common. 
But he was not going to marry her father. He 
thought nothing of descent, genealogy, parentage 
— at least, not in their social aspects. Provided she 
had not inherited a tendency to scrofula, salt rheum, 
insanity, epilepsy, and the rest, or a bad disposition, 
it was nothing to him who her parents were. The 
idea of thinking the less of Yesta because her father 
earned his living in Pudne3^’s quarry would have 
seemed preposterous to him. Her bright eyes were 
not one iota less beautiful, her charming ways less 
fascinating, nor were the brightness of her mind. 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


151 


the soundness of her education, the excellence of her 
sentiments, one iota less apparent. 

He had not the faintest perception, himself, either 
of the ignominy or the disgrace of work. The only 
thing he knew against manual labor was that it 
was hard, monotonous, and uninteresting; and he 
was glad he was not obliged to work with his hands 
himself and that his wife would not be obliged to 
work. It followed, of course, that he was abso- 
lutely destitute of dignity so far as dignity consists 
in asserting superiority over working-people; and 
he was just as ready to shake hands with Almira 
Pillsbury as he was with Pudney. Therefore in 
leading Yesta Dodd to the altar, he was not only 
densely ignorant that he was marrying beneath 
his rank, but he even thought Miss Dodd was con- 
ferring a very high honor on him and that he was, 
in fact, the object of all other men’s envy. And 
she certainly had a great deal to recommend her. 
If she had been a rich young lady she would have 
been celebrated for her beauty, her cleverness, and 
her accomplishments. Mackintosh rightly regarded 
her as a young woman of unusual intellectual ability 
and energy, proof of which lay in what she had ac- 
complished in attaining an excellent education in 
spite of innumerable obstacles. As to her beauty, 
if there had ever been any doubt of it in anyone’s 
mind, it must have vanished the morning she was 
married. The two Miss Pudneys would hardly have 
ventured to call her " our servant ” if they had seen 
her in her wedding-dress. Silks and laces were very 
becoming to her. 

As for her faults and short-comings, and the in- 


152 


FCTDNEY & WALP. 


evitable consequences of having 1 been brought up by 
Betsey Dodd, Mackintosh never noticed them. He 
was not very nice himself about some things; and 
if Mrs. Mackintosh was a little inclined to be dowdv- 
fied and slatternly in private, the great surgeon 
was quite as much disposed to be slovenly not only 
in private, but also in public. If there was dirt and 
dust about the house it never attracted his atten- 
tion; in fact he had a wonderful faculty himself for 
making dirt. If there was anything on, or about 
his writing-desk that he no longer wanted, he tum- 
bled it out upon the floor; and valuable carpets 
never restrained him from sending anything un- 
desirable on his plate in the same direction. He 
never used a scraper or a door-mat in his life, never 
hung up his hat or coat or anything else, and was 
always in bed in just two minutes from the time 
he made up his mind to retire. As to his linen, he 
got used to drawing thousand dollar checks sooner 
than to changing his shirt oftener than twice a 
week; and but for the vigilance and resolute en- 
deavors of one Hank Yates, his faithful servant 
who had charge of his personal appearance, his 
slovenliness must often have been betrayed to the 
public. In fact, such were his habits and propensi- 
ties that a marriage with a different woman from 
the daughter of Betsey Dodd, would have been very 
uncongenial to both of them. Mackintosh and Miss 
Dodd were perfectly mated ; for it is always well that 
both pairs of feet between the connubial sheets shall 
be of the same complexion. Thus in blissful ignor- 
ance of one another’s faults, they passed their lives 
in serene and jo3 r ous contemplation of one another’s 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


153 


virtues. In every respect it was a perfect marriage. 
The woman was without any humiliating conscious- 
ness of inferiority to her husband; the man was 
destitute of any feeling of superiority to his wife. 

They were a very happy pair. Mackintosh was 
proud of his beautiful young wife; and she was 
proud of her distinguished husband, of the books 
he had written, of the great surgical operations he 
had performed, and of the big fees he charged and 
obtained. 

The marriage took place as soon after the death 
of Mrs. Dodd as propriety allowed; and Pudney’s 
late servant became the mistress of one of the 
finest mansions in Winthrop Harbor. She had 
servants (whom she called her hired girls), she had 
a fine carriage, a bank account, a magnificent ward- 
robe, and an adoring husband; and no one could 
truthfully say that Mrs. Mackintosh ever failed in 
maintaining the dignity of her husband’s high 
position. She never became a leader of fashion and 
society; but she was always conspicuous in every 
company which she entered for her beauty, grace, 
vivacity and bright sayings. 


154 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


CHAPTER XV. 

PUDNEY HAS AN ADVENTURE IN ABSEQUAM WOODS. 

When it was known in Winthrop Harbor that 
Dr. Mackintosh had brought a wife home to his beau- 
tiful house on Prospect Hill, there were a great many 
aching* hearts in the town that day; and more than 
one pillow was bedewed with tears that night. 
Though perfectly innocent of trifling with any wo- 
man's affections. Mackintosh was a man whom a 
great many women were confidently expecting to 
marry. This was partly because he was rich, dis- 
tinguished, and able to command a fee of one hun- 
dred dollars for doing almost nothing, partly be- 
cause he was handsome and pleasing in his manner, 
and partly because every woman thought it was 
not possible that he could talk so much and say so 
many kind things to any other woman as he had 
said to herself. 

But of all the aching hearts in town that night, 
there was none among all the disappointed females 
so bruised and sore as that which throbbed in the 
mortified breast of the father of the two eldest Miss 
Pudneys. The young ladies themselves only laughed 
with derision and vied with each other in rehears- 
ing at the supper table that night, how many shock- 
ing breaches of decorum he committed the day he 
dined there. 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


155 


“He was just a fit match for that Dodd girl,” 
they declared ; and their father was too much op- 
pressed and too poor in spirit to resent anything 
they said. 

Still suffering from melancholia, Pudney, after 
supper, mounted his favorite horse and started out 
for Absequam, hoping to forget his vexation in a 
moonlight canter and a game of chess with Walp. 
It was dark by the time he reached the gates of 
Absequam Woods; but the moon was full and the 
sky clear. Pudney’s taste for woodland scenery 
was fully equal to his fondness for the sea; but the 
woods at Absequam by moonlight, with its ghostly 
white statues, and its soughing pines and hemlocks, 
always filled him with superstitious awe which he 
could never quite shake off — a feeling which, on the 
present occasion, seemed to be shared by Pompey, 
the coal black horse that bore him. 

Every moonbeam glancing through the trembling 
leaves made the wary beast slacken his pace, prick 
up his ears, and sniff the air for danger before he 
would go forward; while every gleaming white 
statue made him shy, till Pudney, confiding in the 
sagacity of his horse, feeling that his unusual be- 
havior boded no good, was filled with undefined ex- 
pectations of evil and thrown into a painful state of 
alertness and dread, when suddenly the animal came 
to a stand-still in the midst of a dense thicket of 
evergreen trees which excluded every ray of light 
and refused to go forward. 

One instant he stood thus while the rider applied 
whip and spur; and then he turned and bolted in 
the opposite direction. But Pudney, quick and strong 


156 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


with snaffle and bit, brought him around again and 
urged him forward; then the beast began plunging 
and kicking violently; and at the self-same mo- 
ment, there arose, directly ahead, and but a few 
feet distant, the most blood-curdling, fear-inspiring 
shrieks that ever smote on mortal ear, ending in a 
prolonged, plaintive, piercing wail, enough to appall 
the stoutest heart — a sound all the more terrible to 
Pudney that he had heard it before and well knew 
whence it proceeded; for he was unshaken in his 
belief that the encounter presaged the death of the 
one who heard it or of some near relative or dear 
friend. 

The next moment, he heard a loud flapping di- 
rectly before him, and the author of the terrible 
sounds, a great horned owl, flew from a tree near 
by, passing so near that its great wings fanned his 
face. Pudney nearly fell from his horse in his hor- 
ror. He encountered an owl in the woods the night 
before his father died; and one evening an owl flew 
against his window-panes just as he was going to 
bed; and shortly after he learned that a brother 
was lost in a storm at sea that very night. Fur- 
thermore, an owl flew in the face of a cousin of his 
one evening, just at dark, when he was searching 
in the woods for a lost cow; and the next morning 
he was drowned in the Penobscot while out fishing 
in a boat. Instantly these recollections passed 
through his mind, thrilling him with fear. He had 
scarcely recovered his breath, before he heard the 
clatter of a horse’s hoofs rapidly approaching. He 
was in a terrible state of alarm; and to his af- 
frighted ear, the hoofs sounded unearthly, super- 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


157 


natural — he thought it was Death coming a horse- 
back for him; and on and on came the unseen 
rider at a furious rate. His apprehensions were in 
a measure allayed when his horse, till then res- 
tive and almost unmanageable, became quiet and 
greeted the new-comer with a loud joyful neigh; 
the next moment he heard a voice which he recog- 
nized as that of the hostler at Absequam, calling 
out of the darkness, “ Hullo w, there! ” 

“ Hullo w, yourself!” returned Pudney intensely 
relieved. “ Where are you goin’ in such a hurry ?” 

“ Gom* for the doctor,” shouted back the man 
without drawing rein. “Walp’s bleedin’ at the 
lungs again,” and without another word he dashed 
away through the woods at a break-neck pace. 

“ Great God ! ” groaned Pudney, urging his horse 
on to Absequam. This was the third hemorrhage 
he had had in the past two months; and the last 
was nearly fatal! Once more that omen would 
prove true! 

Anxious to leave the lugubrious woods as soon as 
possible, he struck out for the shore road reaching it 
half a mile below the castle; but his feelings were 
not yet, by any means, calmed. The full moon poured 
its bright effulgence over the road and sea and 
rested with wonderful beauty upon the woods he 
had just left; every object was distinctly visible a 
long distance ahead; but the sea roared frightfully 
that night; and Pudney felt, as he put his horse 
to his utmost speed, that he was running a race 
with wild demons that kept abreast of him all the 
way. 

Arrived at the castle, he found everything in con- 


158 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


fusion. Walp lay on his bed speechless; and Mrs. 
Walp was in hysterics. 

Mackintosh was there in half an hour; and Pud- 
ney vowed in his heart to forgive him everything if 
only he saved the patient. 

“ For God’s sake do all you can, Doctor! ” he cried 
piteously. “Walp’s a man this world can’t spare 
just yet.” 

Mackintosh made no reply. Loquacious as he was 
when there was nothing to do, he was silent as a 
sphinx when he had work on his hands. Two other 
physicians arrived a few minutes later; and after a 
brief consultation, a messenger was sent to tele- 
graph for the sick man’s aged parents. 

Pudney and Mackintosh remained with the pa- 
tient all night. When they left Absequam next 
morning, the sheet had been drawn over his face; 
the blinds were turned; the door was closed. Mrs. 
Walp was a widow. 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


159 


CHAPTER XVI. 

AN UNHAPPY RICH WOMAN. 

Mrs. Walp undeniably bad a good deal to con- 
sole her. Walp’s will left everything absolutely to 
his wife. His destitute parents and several other 
poor relations whom he had maintained for years, 
got nothing — at least, nothing under the will; for 
Walp’s will was simply Mrs. Walp’s will; and it 
was her pleasure that everything should be left ab- 
solutely to her — that her husband’s poor relations 
should be dependent upon her bounty though she 
hastened to let them know that she intended to be 
liberal and immediately increased all their allow- 
ances. 

By her husband’s death, she had the consolation 
of becoming absolute mistress of Absequam and of 
all his vast interest in the granite quarry, the mam- 
moth Pudney & Walp store, the numerous blocks 
of workingmen’s houses, as well as of much other 
real estate on the island. Moreover, it was certainly 
very consolatory to find that her widow’s weeds 
were vastly becoming and to know that she was re- 
garded as a fortunate being and that wherever she 
went all eyes turned to follow the beautiful and in- 
teresting young widow who held such immense in- 
terests in her own right. But notwithstanding all 
this, she wet many a black bordered handkerchief 
in secret with her tears. She was very lonely; and 


160 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


she had, in reality, gained nothing substantial by 
her husband's death. She had no more of this 
world’s goods than before, was not more the mis- 
tress of her husband’s income than during his life- 
time. Her wishes were ever his wishes. She was 
never obliged to argue with him to gain her ends or 
to justify her demands, never obliged to do any- 
thing without his knowledge. She had no secrets 
from him. She had gained by his death but the 
barren distinction of holding everything in her own 
right; and this failed to console her in her hours of 
loneliness however much it supported her in public. 

She was a woman who abhorred solitude. She 
missed her husband’s companionship, his admiration, 
his compliments, his affection. She had always told 
him all her triumphs, all her animosities. He was 
her confidant, her bosom friend, her comforter — like 
a girl friend with the difference that she never 
doubted his sympathy or the motives of his interest 
in her confidences, or distrusted the sincerity of his 
friendship. 

Now she wandered about her vast castle alone; 
and at times she felt nearly distracted to see him. 
Sometimes she would return from some contact 
with the world, brimming over with something to 
tell him; and then she would suddenly realize that 
she would never see him again, and she would burst 
into tears and sob herself into hysterics. She wanted 
him back the most to tell him how she missed him, 
how she suffered without him; for there was no one 
else to whom she could confide her grief. There 
was no one, she thought, who would not regard it 
as hypocrisy. She had been too incredulous herself 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


161 


concerning' widows’ sorrows not to understand the 
suspicion that would attach to hers; and to none 
was she more reticent than to her hard-hearted 
nieces, the two eldest Miss Pudneys. She had never 
allowed them to see her shed a tear. She knew 
they regarded Her as having had a great stroke of 
good fortune, though they affected to condole with 
her and murmured, “ Poor Aunt Sue ! ” in sentimen- 
tal tones. To think people considered her better off 
a widow! Poor Tom! she thought, how hard that 
he had to leave all his magnificent possessions. It 
was no comfort to her to be told of the beauty and 
magnificence of the New Jerusalem. 

But in spite of all her efforts to conceal her grief 
from her skeptical, sarcastic nieces, she was often 
sad and gloomy in their company and often sighed 
unconsciously. Another change that had come over 
her was the alteration that had taken place in the 
treatment of her sister. Mrs. Pudnej^s health had 
been imperceptibly failing for some time past and 
she now rarely left the house. Mrs. Walp no longer 
sneered at her plain dress and simple manners, and 
often rebuked her nieces for some contemptuous 
allusion to their mother; and nearly every day she 
drove over from Absequam and spent an hour or 
more in her sister’s room, talking but little, some- 
times listlessly reading, but generally, with her 
head resting pensively on her hand, she would sit 
motionless, looking out upon the sea, and after a 
long silence, she would take a turn about the room 
saying, “Well, Libby” (she called her Libby, now), 
“ money isn’t the only thing people need to make 
them happy.” 

ii 


1G2 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


Her nieces thought she had gone daft. They had 
no patience with her grief which they thought un- 
reasonable and absurd. She was sad when they 
wanted to make merry, down-hearted when they 
wanted to be gay. They thought it was hard 
enough to be obliged to keep up a semblance of 
mourning without mourning in earnest — to wear 
black and give up society and keep their faces drawn 
down before the world, without having sad hearts. 
Their aunt knew they were thinking she would lay 
aside her mourning at the end of the year and 
Absequam would become the scene of joyous festiv- 
ity again and soon she would marry. 

“How outrageous!” she thought. “ItTl take 
more than one year for me to forget Tom! ” 

But poor Tom was dead; and she was very, very 
lonely; and since he could never return, and since it 
was impossible to endure such solitude forever, she 
had formed no determination to live alone the re- 
mainder of her life; therefore she had by no means 
resolved to wear mourning forever; but it seemed 
like rank treason to form any definite plans for 
the future; and when the first .year of her widow- 
hood ended, and Laura asked in tones that she pur- 
posely made cold and careless in order not to en- 
courage her aunt any longer in her unreasonable 
grief, “How soon do you think you shall lay aside 
your mourning, Aunt Sue ? ” her aunt turned away 
her face; and as soon as she could command her 
voice, she replied in tones that she strove to make 
as cold and careless as those of her niece : 

“I have not decided yet. I think I shall wear it 
a while longer.” 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


163 


CHAPTER XVII. 

PUDNEY GROWS AVARICIOUS. 

Pudney was very much subject to bilious at- 
tacks. His liver was a little out of order; and at 
such times he had always been inclined to be jealous 
of Walp's interest in the granite business and in all 
the other enterprises which had grown out of it. 
His mind went back to the time when he first came 
to the island, to the labor that he had done here 
alone, and to his return with Walp; and he took a 
very jaundiced and bilious view of the earnings of 
capital — Walp's capital. For a paltry thousand 
dollars, a young man whose services could have been 
hired for ordinary week's wages, had secured a half 
interest in this giant enterprise which his mind 
alone had conceived, and his knowledge, his experi- 
ence, his discernment, and his skilled labor had made 
successful. 

After Walp’s death, these bilious attacks came 
upon him oftener and lasted him longer. It was 
monstrous to be paying out one-half of such a vast 
income to Walp's widow all on account of that 
miserable, first ten hundred dollars ! He would ride 
over to Absequam and gaze upon that stupendous 
structure and its amazing contents gathered from 
the four quarters of the earth, and upon its mag- 
nificent park, and groan in anguish of spirit as he 


164 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


thought that it all came out of him. He grew hit- 
ter and malevolent thinking about it; but there was 
no remedy for it now; he must go on sharing the 
profits of his own industry, enterprise, and sagacit} 7 
with that frivolous little bundle of vanity who pro- 
duced nothing, did nothing. 

Yet feeling thus, and though knowing that Mrs. 
Walp hated business and that she only yawned over 
the accounts and tucked them away without look- 
ing into them, he would have shuddered at the 
thought of defrauding his late partner's widow out 
of a penny. His regretful ruminations bore quite 
different fruit. Meditating over the possibilities of 
the might-have-beens, avarice grew upon him. 

He was penetrated through and through with 
the conviction that he was not making money fast 
enough — that he had always allowed other people 
to gain advantages over him, to get rich at his 
expense; that he had always been too liberal, too 
easy, too unselfish, and self-sacrificing; and that, to 
begin with, he had always paid too high.wages; that 
he had been too considerate of his employes in mem- 
ory of his own early life; that, in short, he had 
never considered his own interests from the first to 
the last; and finally, that he was a very great fool. 

He grew savage and morose thinking over his 
folly. But he resolved that it was not too late yet 
to retrieve the errors of the past. He meant to 
make up for all his carelessness and foolishness; and 
he meant to begin right away. There was no re- 
ducing Mrs. Walp's share; but he could cut down 
the wages of the men ; and this he was determined 
to do. 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


165 


His liver, however, was not so much out of order 
as to hurry him into any rash, ill-considered action. 
He knew very well there would he a strike; and he 
lost all his old sympathy for the men, in advance, 
in the mere contemplation of their opposition and 
resentment. He meant to head them off, to be pre- 
pared for anything- they might do. To this end (it 
was about three months after Walp’s death), he 
sent out discreet, confidential agents in every direc- 
tion; and before long workmen began pouring into 
the island from the four quarters of the earth; and 
all had one objective point. They came in twos and 
threes and wended their way to the Pudney & 
Walp Granite Quarry and applied for employment; 
and Pudney engaged them all till at last the quarry 
was running double its usual number of men. 

The old hands stared but thought Pudney knew 
what he was about; the new hands took it as a 
matter of course; and everybody was happy. Hard 
times seemed far away from all. But in a short 
time the sheds were filled with finished stone and 
many contracts were completed long ahead of time. 
Then the blow fell. 

One bitter cold morning in January, when the 
mercury was way down below zero, the men waded 
to the quarry through snow to their knees, with 
steaming mouths and noses, frosty beards and frost- 
nipped ears, and found notices posted up with Pud- 
ney ? s name at the bottom in brave, big, black let- 
ters; and they clustered around, stamping their 
feet, and pounding their chests to keep warm, and 
learned that their wages were reduced, and that 
they were put on half time into the bargain — a step 


166 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


rendered necessary by the vast over-suppty of fin- 
ished stone for which there was no present market! 

The men were dumfounded. After such a rush- 
ing, such a crowding on of steam, to put on the 
brakes like this! The old hands were astonished 
and indignant; the new hands were astonished and 
dismayed. They were no stolid, down-trodden, 
illiterate foreigners; they were shrewd, sharp Yan- 
kees who could read and write “ and cipher, too ” — 
men who never doubted their equality to any man; 
and many among them saw through it all. 

For two or three days Pudney heard nothing. 
There were no mass meetings, no speech-making, 
no outward signs of discontent. Apparently the 
men thought of nothing but submission. The two 
sections took their turns in the quarry; and every- 
thing seemed peaceful and harmonious. But at 
noon of the third day, while Pudney was sitting in 
his private office, the door opened and a stalwart 
six-footer appeared on the threshold. 

It was Lewis Harding, one of the finishers, a man 
about thirty-two or three years of age, with a strik- 
ingly expressive countenance, a firm, resolute, hand- 
some mouth, and a broad high brow out from under 
which beamed large, intelligent gray eyes. He was 
calm and self-possessed, even cheerful and sunny in 
aspect; and nothing in his genial, good-natured 
countenance indicated that he harbored a grievance 
or had come to demand the righting of a wrong. 
He was a better educated man than Pudney; and 
being unmarried, with a little something laid by for 
a rainy day, he had the advantage of possessing the 
equipoise of mind, the nerve and fearlessness with 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


167 


which a man can fight for a principle, and for ab- 
stract justice, or for the rights of others, when he 
has no vital personal interest at stake, and which 
are indispensable to success in any combat. 

“ Mornin", Mr. Pudney/" he began with the easy 
familiarity which, up to this time, had always sub- 
sisted between Pudney and his men. 

“ Mornin", Hardin"/" returned Pudney with a hos- 
tile gleam in his eye and the stiffness of a man to 
whom hypocrisy is not natural. 

“ Can you spare a minute for a little talk ? "" pur- 
sued Harding, pleasantly. 

“ Why, yes, come in,"" replied Pudney, making a 
futile attempt to appear unconcerned. “ Come in. 
Take a seat."" 

He felt quite certain Harding had come to talk 
with him about the state of affairs in the quarry; 
and he endeavored to brace himself up for the en- 
counter. 

“I"ve got something here, Mr. Pudney,"" said 
Harding, with a pleasant look, taking a formidable 
roll of paper from his pocket, “ that I guess yo u"ll 
take an interest in. You"ll see by this document, 
Mr. Pudney,” he continued placidly, “that we hain"t 
satisfied with the cut in our wages and loafin" round 
town every other day.” 

“ Well, damn it ! wdiat in hell you goin" to do "bout 
it ? "" cried Pudney, flaring up in an instant. “ I done 
my best by the men.” 

“You can read this and see what we propose to 
do,” calmly returned Harding, handing up the paper ? 
quietly. 

“Damn it, I don’t want to read it/" cried Pudney, 


168 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


pushing the instrument away roughly. “If any 
man don’t want to work for me on my terms, damn 
it, let him look for work somewheres else. This is a 
free country, I guess.” 

“ That’s all right, Mr. Pudney,” replied Harding, 
perfectly unruffled. “But you’d better read the 
paper, or, if you say so, I’ll tell you the gist of it.” 

“ I don’t want to hear it ! ” retorted Pudney. “ The 
amount of it is, the men are goin’ to strike, I spose.” 

“That’s the whole story in a nutshell, Mr. Pud- 
ney. We hain’t the kind of men to live off women’s 
earnin’s, or to take to robbin’ hen-roosts.” 

“Well, what in hell do the men ’spect of me?” 
cried Pudne} 7 in a towering rage. “Am I to emploj^ 
a thousand men when I hain’t even got work for 
five hundred ? Damn it, I guess I know my own 
business best.” 

“You were running a thousand men before the 
cut-down, Mr. Pudney,” replied Harding boldly but 
respectfully. 

“ I know I was; and I was a damn fool to do it,” 
returned Pudney excitedly and turning very red. 
“ I done it just to lend a helpin’ hand to my sufferin’ 
fellow-men,” he added with increasing embarrass- 
ment and ending by looking very foolish. 

“ You know best about that, Mr. Pudney,” re- 
turned Harding in respectful accents. “ ’Tain’t for 
me to judge. But we all naturally think what you 
done then, you can do now. But there’s no use 
wastin’ words. Every man in the quarry has put 
his name to those resolutions to quit work at noon 
to-morrow, unless you give us full time and our old 
wages.” 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


169 


“ The men must he damn fools/’ cried Pudney. 
" What in hell do they think Pm goin’ to do with 
a thousand men in times like these ? ” 

" Y ou hadn’t ought to ever brought all those new 
hands to Winthrop Harbor, Mr. Pudney,” returned 
Harding with calm severity, looking Pudney coolly 
in the eye. 

" By God, Pm my own master! ” cried Pudney too 
much enraged to perceive that he was making ad- 
missions; then, making an awkward attempt to re- 
trieve his error, he added, " I’d like to know who 
says I brought them new hands to the island! I 
hadn’t no work hardly for the old hands; and I’d 
ben a fool to hire any more — without I done it out 
of kindness.” 

" You know best about that, Mr. Pudiiey. ’Tain’t 
for me nor any other man to impeach your veracity. 
There’s a Power above that knows all, and judges 
all, and punishes all,” he added with a solemnity 
that made Pudney writhe. " But if you done it to 
force us to work for lower wages, you’ll find it wunt 
work. There’s only one mind among us on that 
head, old hands and new.” 

" Well, g<5 ahead ! ” cried Pudney, grimly thinking 
of the finished stone in the sheds ready for shipment. 
"This is a free country. You can do what you’re a 
mind to. I can’t hender ye and I wouldn’t if I could. 
There’s plenty of fish in the sea as good as any ever 
was caught; and if there hain’t, I guess I can stand 
out as long as the men. I guess if you go on a 
strike, you’ll get the worst of it.” 

"Well, Mr. Pudney, I’m sorry to hear you talk 
so,” returned Harding gravely. “ ’Tain’t what the 


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men ever expected of you. Time was when every 
man in the quarry loved the very ground you walked 
on. There wasn't a man but what wouldn’t have 
believed you were not capable of doing an unjust 
act.” 

Pudney exhibited signs of great uneasiness. He 
twitched at his cuffs, and then began diligently ar- 
ranging the papers and miscellaneous articles on 
the desk before him. 

“ I can’t run the quarry with a thousand men, 
Hardin’, no use talkin’ about it,” he replied without 
looking up. 

“ Mr. Pudney, I want to ask you one question,” 
said Harding earnestly. “ I want to ask you if you 
think you done the square thing by the men in 
taking the bourse you have? You know what you 
done. ’Tain’t for me to tell you that. Now I just 
want to ask how you’d liked it when you were 
workin’ for wages, if you’d ben served the same 
way ?. Would you have thought it was right ?” 

Pudney was very much disturbed in his mind. 
His conscience was very troublesome. But he had 
cut down the men’s wages and it w r ould add thou- 
sands of dollars to his yearly income, and at last he 
had just begun to see a fair prospect of making 
money fast enough to suit him. 

“ I calc’late, Hardin’, that Pve done all I can,” he 
replied v T ith his eyes on the floor. “ You can’t rea- 
sonably expect me to make a beggar of myself, nor 
beggars of my wife and children. My conscience is 
clear, so far’s I know. If the men are bound to 
strike, why, they’ll strike, I spose. I don’t calc’late 
to pay no higher wages before spring, if I do then ; 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


171 


and I shan’t, unless business is better, you can bet 
your life on that. Of course the men wunt take no 
advice from me. If they would, I’d tell ’em if they 
know when they’re well off, they’ll wait a long- while 
before they strike with things in the shape they are 
now.” 

“ Well, Mr. Pudney,” said Harding decisively, ris- 
ing, and putting the resolutions on the desk, “ I’ll 
leave this document with you. That’s my duty. I 
hoped you’d give in, though I didn’t really expect it. 
I know the men hain’t agoin’ to. You couldn’t look 
for men with any respect for themselves to stand 
such treatment. Any man, I say, that would take 
such wages and set around the house with the 
women folks every other day, all winter, and see 
them workin’ themselves into their graves to make 
both ends meet, would be a disgrace to the good 
God that made him. I hope you’ll be brought' to 
see it in that light, Mr. Pudney, before long. I 
mean you no ill-will. Mebbe you’re deceived into 
thinkin’ you’re right; but you’ll find out you’re wrong. 
God Almighty wunt permit your plans to succeed. 
You’re rich, and you’re smart, but you can’t pre- 
vail over the Great Omnipotent. God will never 
permit you to oppress your fellow-men. Good day, 
sir.” 

He went out and left Pudne} 7 to his thoughts which 
were anything but tranquilizing. In the first place, 
he was fond of popularity, of approbation. He 
writhed under censure; and at the thought that his 
scheme for heading off a strike was understood, he 
gnashed his teeth with vexation and reddened with 
shame. 


172 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


To-morrow, at noon, the men would quit work 
unless he came to terms. He sat a long time think- 
ing about it; he walked the floor in profound medi- 
tation; then he wandered to the window — a window 
overlooking the sea. But avarice had him fast in 
her clutches. The raging billows failed to have any 
effect upon him now. He no longer felt any com- 
pulsion to do right as he gazed out upon the scene, 
no longer felt the Almighty at his elbow, no longer 
heard, in its roaring and moaning, the shrieks and 
wails of the cruel, and inhuman, and hard-hearted, 
undergoing the penalty of their sins. In fact, he 
saw nothing as he looked forth. He turned back 
in a moment, exclaiming decisively: 

“Damn it! it’s too much to pay for bein’ liked! 
They can think what they please.” 

Then he put on his overcoat and his thick warm 
gloves and left his office by a side door. He wanted 
to avoid passing any of the men. He felt that he 
could no longer look them in the face. 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


173 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE STRIKERS' JUBILEE. 

Night, on the first da} T of the strike, found the 
quarter of the town inhabited by the stone-cutters, 
in a high state of animation. It was a cold, crisp 
evening in January. The mild, placid radiance of 
a clear, full moon lighted up the hard, dry, well- 
trodden, but still white snow that lay deep and solid 
on the hoard sidewalk; the atmosphere was impreg- 
nated with exhilarating, health-giving ozone; there 
was but little wind; and everything in the physical 
condition of the hour, favored the exuberance, the 
wonderful flow of animal spirits, the good humor ? 
the hilarity — staid and dignified, that prevailed 
throughout the quarter. 

On the streets, usually quiet and deserted after 
nightfall, there was a continual crunch, crunch of 
feet on the snow-covered walk, a continual passing 
to and fro of tall, vigorous men, muffled in woolen 
comforters of various hues; front doors were con- 
tinually opening and closing, lights flashing forth; 
and the fronts of the houses, usually wrapped in 
sombre darkness six nights of the week, were ablaze 
with lamp-light and the red glow of fire-light. 

The strikers, obedient to the irresistible impulses 
of their excited minds and the unusually urgent de- 
mands of the social and gregarious instincts of their 


174 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


human nature, were making the rounds of their 
neighbors’ houses, thirsting for an interchange of 
opinion upon the situation, and for an outlet to their 
pent-up feelings, and their pent-up thoughts — for 
there was not a man of those Maine men who was 
not a thinker. % 

Every house had its visitors. A fire was lighted 
in the best room. The women folks had given up 
all occupation but the inevitable knitting-work; the 
children left their school-books unstudied and 
crowded around, eager listeners, drinking down a 
love of liberty, and equality, and the mighty dollar, 
and hatred of oppression, monopoly, and injustice. 
The little parlors were crowded; chairs, and every- 
thing that could he utilized for a seat, were 
brought in from other parts of the house. Some 
one was continually coming in or going out. Some- 
times the man of the house was at another’s — hut 
no matter, the}*- would see him there or elsewhere; 
and everywhere the talk was loud and excited; and 
the laughter was louder. 

The prevailing opinion, born of the general good 
humor, the exuberance, the pleasurable excitement 
of the hour was that Pudney would have to give in; 
and everybody was triumphant and happy. The 
houses most sought and most crowded were the 
abodes of the leading spirits of the strike and of the 
committee, chief among the latter of whom, was 
Lewis Harding, the chairman. 

Harding, at the present time, was domiciled with 
Benjamin Docld who, since the death of his wife and 
the marriage of his daughter, had been keeping a 
boarding-house for the accommodation of his un- 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


175 


married fellow-workmen, the domestic arrange- 
ments being under the charge of a maiden sister. 

Here a vast concourse of the strikers crowded the 
barren little parlor all the evening, reached out into 
the hall, overflowed upon the doorsteps, and blocked 
up the sidewalk before the house. The great head 
centre of the company was, of course, Harding who 
was sitting on the table in the middle of the room, 
the seating capacity of the house having given out 
long ago. 

Harding’s opinion, to which the strike was largely 
due, had one unfortunate bias. A cool, clear-headed 
man in other respects, possessed of an unusual 
amount of good sense, discretion, and excellent judg- 
ment, he was strongly influenced, in the present in- 
stance, by the monstrous fallacy that right must 
always prevail over wrong. He was a deeply relig- 
ious man; and, carried away by religious enthusi- 
asm, he was clear in his belief that the Almighty 
would not suffer a rich, avaricious, grasping man to 
succeed in schemes like Pudney’s. He was a pray- 
ing man, and he prayed to God daily and hourly 
for the overthrow of the unrighteous. But he was 
a comparatively young man whom neither experi- 
ence nor observation had yet taught the important 
lesson that the affairs of this world work themselves 
out according to the necessities of moral and phy- 
sical laws. 

In response to the calls of every new addition to 
the throng, Harding made speech after speech, elo- 
quent, fervid, sanguine, triumphant; and the men 
cheered themselves hoarse at every noble utterance. 
Men in crowds are religious, or at least, men like 


176 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


these, the descendants of the old Puritan fathers. 
However cold and indifferent they might have been 
as individuals, the crowd believed implicitly in an 
over-ruling Providence. They listened to Harding’s 
deeply religious outpourings as to one inspired. His 
speech was so fluent, so fiery, so beautiful, his lan- 
guage so brilliant, it seemed to them he was more 
than a man; and they filled Dodd’s little parlor 
with a deafening uproar of applause all the evening. 

"The strike is bound to succeed!” was on every 
man’s lips as they dispersed that night, and as the 
crowds wended their way homeward, the streets re- 
sounded with snatches of song and hymns of praise 
to God. 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


177 


CHAPTER XIX. 

HOW THE STRIKE PROSPERED. 

The strikers now had an opportunity to experi- 
ence the delights of leisure. They could lie abed as 
late as millionaires every morning and stroll around 
town seeing the sights every day. They could 
stand around the quarry in knots, with their hands 
in their pockets, discussing the rights of man; they 
could march around town with a band of music, and 
flying banners to show their spirit and their unan- 
imity; and stormy days they could stay at home 
and read. Instead of going to bed with the chick- 
ens in order to rise before daylight, they could spend 
their evenings in the pursuit of pleasure; and the 
whole quarter nightly rang with sounds of mirth, 
or devotion, or with the hum of intellectual diver- 
sions. Here you passed a house where a chorus of 
voices loudly caroled the sentimental notes of “Annie 
Laurie,” “The Last Rose of Summer,” or “Auld 
Lang Syne;” from another, came good old Meth- 
odist hymn tunes; here you passed a house where 
the amusements took a dramatic turn; and a sten- 
torian voice rolled forth, “ Lochiel,” “ Thanatopsis,” 
or “The Charge of the Light Brigade;” and from 
next door came, perhaps, the sounds of dancing to 
the music of a squeaking violin or a screaming ac- 
cordion. 


12 


178 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


At the little Methodist church, frequented by the 
majority of the stone-cutters, “ protracted meetin’ ” 
was being held. Here large numbers came nightly ; 
and there was a great awakening of religious en- 
thusiasm. The church resounded with loud and 
fervid prayers, and exhortations, and the shouts of 
amen and hallelujah. “Our distinguished fellow- 
townsman ” (understood to be Pudney) was prayed 
for every night “that his eyes might be opened, that 
his heart might be softened, and that he might see 
the iniquity of injustice and oppression;” and man}' 
and fervent were the prayers for “ the deliverance of 
our oppressed fellow-citizens ” (understood to be the 
strikers). The same people came every night 
through driving snow-storms and pelting, ice-cold 
rain, some to take an active part in the devotions, 
others to look on in silence. Among the latter was 
Benjamin Dodd who sat eagerly drinking down 
every word, looking sharply around every time he 
heard a voice to learn whence it proceeded. He at- 
tached a pecuniary value to every prayer and every 
amen, a value that regulated itself, in his mind, ac- 
cording to the individual importance of the speaker. 
He had no faith, whatever, in Pudney’s voluntary 
submission. His only reliance was in the interfer- 
ence of the Almighty. When the resolutions to 
strike were first handed around, Dodd’s mind was 
on the fence and remained there till every name had 
been subscribed; and then he took the paper with 
a sigh and scrawled, “Benj. Dodd” at the bottom. 
His weekly bank deposit had fallen off pitiably since 
the reduction of wages and time; but, in his opinion, 
half a loaf was better than no bread; yet now that 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


179 


the strike was on, he was powerfully anxious to see 
it prayed through and to get hack to work again as 
soon as possible though, in the mean time, not to 
lose any more than he could help, and to provide 
against the contingency of the Almighty's leaving 
them in the lurch altogether, he had gone into the 
clam-digging business. 

No stronger proof, however, of the utter inefficacy 
of “ special prayer ” could be given than the influence 
of these tempestuous outpourings on Pudney. So 
far from softening his heart, he became more bitter, 
more savage, more acrimonious every day; and so 
far from opening his eyes to the wrong and injustice 
he had done, he grew firmer in the conviction that 
he had a right to pay just such wages as he could 
starve and freeze his men into working for. He was 
still satisfied that he had done a mighty shrewd, 
masterly thing in fixing matters the way he had. 
He was not a philosophical man ; and when he looked 
out of his counting-room window every morning 
and saw the men standing idly around, with their 
hands in their pockets, waiting for him "to knock 
under or bust," all the old feeling of good will and 
fellowship that he had formerly borne towards his 
employes, turned to the bitterest animosity; but 
nothing filled him with such rancor or so stirred up 
his vindictiveness, as the sentiments on their ban- 
ners and transparencies which they flaunted in his 
face and exhibited all about town. Every time he ' 
saw them waving on the breeze, or borne aloft on 
the shoulder of some old-time friend, he swore a 
great oath that he would never give in — he would 
never be conquered. 


180 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


But if the prayers of the church had no other 
effect on Pudney, they frightened him terribly when 
he first heard about them. He believed in God; 
and he believed in prayer; and the gooseflesh stood 
out all over him as he thought that God had the 
power to start up the quarry with the old rate of 
wages, and even to put back the whole force, old 
hands and new, on full time, without taking into ac- 
count that he had so many contracts already com- 
pleted. Several mornings when he went down to 
his office, he almost expected to hear the clink of the 
hammer on the stone, and to see the men all at 
work. But as time passed on, he began to think 
the Lord took sides with capital. It was a long 
time ago now since Pudney had been a workingman; 
and the sympathy that he had felt for his past self, 
was overwhelmed by his sympathy for his present 
self. In short, so far from feeling for the men 
through recollections of his past life, he called to 
mind that he had been obliged to work for anything 
he could get — why shouldn’t they ? W orking people 
must live within their means — he had to when he 
was a workingman and they were no better than 
he. He now took enormous risks, it was but fair 
that he should earn large profits, and he was deter- 
mined to do it. 

But he was not entirely without anxiety as to the 
duration of the strike. As the time approached 
when he must go on or lose money, he grew nervous 
and anxious. Many a night he lay awake in his bed 
till nearly morning; and every day he looked fur- 
tively out of his office-window and eagerly scanned 
the ranks of the strikers for the least sign of break- 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


181 


ing down; and he saw a great many before he lost 
all hope of gaining the day. There were faces 
among them now that were beginning to look hag- 
gard and pinched; and many a pair of feet was 
covered with boots that were no protection what- 
ever against the snow and ice-cold water in the 
streets; many a step was slow and halting; many 
a racking cough was heard all along the line of 
paraders; shoulders drooped ; heads were no longer 
held high; and the cheerfulness, the buoyancy, the 
sanguine expectations, which they had shown in the 
first days of the strike, had long ago departed from 
the ranks. With but few exceptions, a more de- 
jected, cadaverous, under-fed, consumptive-looking 
set of men could scarcely be collected. The suffer- 
ings of the strikers reached the ears of Mrs. Pudney, 
now a hopeless invalid. Scores of letters from the 
strikers’ wives poured in upon her in her sick-room? 
detailing many a story of distress and imploring 
her intercession. But to all her appeals, Pudney 
turned a deaf ear. It was too late. His heart had 
grown harder and harder the longer the men held 
out. It was useless to ask him to pity the sufferings 
brought on them by their struggle against himself. 

“ Damn em ! ” he cried, “ if they’re starvin’, that’s 
just what I want; that’s just what I’ve ben waitin’ 
for. If they don’t come to terms in a day or so, I’m 
goin’ to get a lot of red-headed Irishmen from Cas- 
tle Garden. I guess what I pay will find ’em in 
murphies and po’k; and that’s all they want.” 

“ But, O Daney, in case of sickness ” 

“ There’s plenty of hospitals.” 

“ But in case of death ” 


182 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


“ Plenty of room in the Potter’s field.” 

“ O Daney, you didn’t used to talk so.” 

“No, by God, I let everybody get the upper hand 
of me! Pve ben too tender-hearted. Now I’m 
lookin’ out for number one.” 

“ Well, Daney, I thank God I know you are not 
such a bad, cruel man as you try to pretend. I 
know that in your heart of hearts you are suffering 
terribly on account of this strike. I know you be- 
lieve in a hereafter; and in spite of all your hard say- 
ings, I know you fear God.” 

Pudney, with his face averted, laughed nervously. 
He did, indeed, fear God; but his fear was vague 
and shadowy; and the prize he braved it for was 
solid and substantial. 

“ You always did have a good opinion of me, Lib,” 
he replied carelessly. “You’re a confounded good 
woman; and I’d like to run the quarry to please you 
if I could; but a woman doesn’t know anything 
about business. I calc’late to run my business for 
the rest of my days to please D. Pudney, Esq. You 
may think folks will call me a hog; but I never 
took notice but what everybody looks up to a hog 
if he’s got plenty of money.” 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


183 


CHAPTER XX. 

PUDNEY DETERMINES TO END THE STRIKE. 

The strike was nearly at its last gasp when Pud- 
ney abruptly determined to crush out its last feeble 
breath of life. 

He was sitting* in his library considering* the mat- 
ter and awaiting* the breakfast-bell in the midst of 
the morning papers from various parts of the coun- 
try, when his daughter Emmie entered the room. 
She was now a tall, silent, dignified girl, whose pro- 
longed, open-eyed, questioning gaze always reminded 
him of his sins and filled him with shame for the 
error of his ways. 

She took a seat by his side and putting her hand 
on his, sat in silence with her eyes on his face which 
grew ruddier while his gaze remained fixed on his 
newspaper. But he understood nothing he read. 

“ Father,” she whispered. 

“ Go ’way, Fm reading” he replied playfully with- 
out looking up. 

“ Father, this is important; and it is urgent. 
Won’t you let me talk with you ? ” 

“ O pshaw ! I spose you’re after some money. How 
much do you want ? ” 

An idea darted into her mind. 

“ I didn’t think of asking for money, father,” she 


184 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


replied; “but I will take all you will give me if you 
will let me send it to the strikers" committee."" 

“ Not much I w T unt,” replied Pudney with a grim 
smile. “ Go "way with your nonsense."" 

“ Father, I came to talk with you. I want to talk 
with you about the strike."" 

“Now, Em, that"s played out! That’s stale. Go 
"way, I tell you. Let me be, I want to read my 
papers."" 

“ Father, don’t be an gry with me. Do you rem em- 
ber that cold, blustery day when we first landed on 
this island, how you took us all to the hut where 
you had lived in poverty for a year, and warned us 
never to allow wealth to cause us to forget that we 
had once been poor .and that our father had strug- 
gled hard for success?” 

“ That’s all right, Emmie,” replied her father. “ I 
hain’t changed one iota that I know of.” 

“ But you used to sympathize with the working 
people.” 

“ Now, Em,” cried her father nervously, “less drop 
this! You know Pm sick of this matter.” 

“ Father, why don’t you go and call on some of 
the men you used to visit ? They are sick and suf- 
fering.” 

“What, call on the strikers? You must think 
Pm simple.” 

“You used to visit them whenever they were ill 
or in trouble.” 

“Yes, till they went on a strike. That settled it 
forever and a day.” 

“ Father, you would have struck if you had been 
in their place. I remember that awful winter be- 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


185 


fore .you came to this island when you struck with 
the other men. We didn’t any of us have a bit of 
butter or meat all that long winter; and we chil- 
dren were nearly barefoot.” 

“ Yes, Emmie, that was an awful winter. I shan’t 
never forget that winter ! ” 

“ Then, father, why can’t you sympathize with 
your own men, undergoing the same hardships ? 
The3^ can’t save anything without great self-denial. 
Consider what a grinding life it is, father — work, 
work, work, just to earn enough to keep soul and 
body together from day to day.” 

“ I’ve worked for less than I was payin’. I worked 
all one winter for seven fcy-five cents a day. Yes, by 
God, I’ve worked for six dollars a month!” 

“But, father, we all suffered; and think how hard 
poor mother always had to work to help along. I 
remember well how I used to shiver with the cold 
every winter because you had no money to buy us 
flannels; and you, too, father, don’t you remember 
suffering with the cold and with leaky boots ? ” 
Pudney had been pretending to read, very care- 
fully avoiding her gaze, but being urged for an an- 
swer, he replied in a husky voice, “Yes, Emmie, I 
remember all about it.” 

“And our poor men are going through all this, 
father. Can’t you sympathize with them ? ” 

“ I did, Emmie, till they struck ; and that settled 
it.” 

“ But you reduced their wages, father. Did you 
sympathize with them then ? ” 

“ I ha d to reduce their wages, Em. Now less drop 
this subject ! You don’t understand such matters.” 


186 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


Father, you always used to say, when you were 
poor, that no one had any right to be worth more 
than a million; that there ought to he laws to pre- 
vent it. I am sure you are worth a great deal more 
than that.” 

Pudney turned very red and hurst out laughing. 
“ What a ninny ! ” he exclaimed. “ I spose you'd say 
you were never goin' to get married; yet I'll bet 
you'll marry the first jackass that asks you. I 
guess when I talked that way about bein' worth a 
million, I didn't know what I was talkin' about.'' 

“ Do you intend to leave me any of your money, 
father ? " 

“ I guess you'll get your share.” 

“ Then, father, I will support myself if you will 
take my share and pay the men the wages they 
ask.” 

“ Not much, I wunt.” 

The conversation, to Pudney's great relief, was 
interrupted by the breakfast-bell. 

Emmie, he knew, would not continue the subject 
in the presence of her sisters; nevertheless he went 
to the table feeling very much like going down to 
the quarry and posting notices that the men should 
have their demands. When his two eldest daugh- 
ters entered the room he dreaded hearing them 
speak. Their talk was almost constantly of the 
strike; and although they were his warm support- 
ers, their remarks were far from welcome or agree- 
able. They began almost at once. 

“ 0 papa,” cried Miss Pudney with airy patronage, 
“ did you see that interview with a striker in this 
morning’s News ? ” 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


187 


“ No/’ growled her father. 

“ O dear,” cried the young lady in her loftiest 
manner, "there was a description of the striker’s 
parlor; and only think, he had a piano! And his 
wife came from church in a black silk dress and a 
black velvet bonnet! No wonder they want higher 
wages! The idea of the working people living like 
that ! ” 

Pudney’s breakfast was choking him. He longed 
to thunder forth, "Wasn’t your own father a w T ork- 
ingman once? Wasn’t I always say in’ to your 
mother, f Lib, I hope by next Christmas I shall be 
able to buy you a black silk dress ? ’ Doesn’t every 
decent white man want his wife to have one black 
silk dress in a life-time ? ” 

But his tongue was tied. Consistency bound him 
over to silence; and the two eldest Miss Pudneys 
rattled on till he felt more than ever like rushing 
down to the quarry and taking back all the strikers 
at the old rate of wages. He went down to his 
office in a very chaotic state of mind. His old sym- 
pathies for the working classes had been powerfully 
reawakened by his youngest daughter, wffiile the 
other two had stirred up all his old hatred of an ar- 
rogant, contemptuous aristocracy, demanding and 
grasping all the luxuries of earth for themselves 
and their own, while reducing the working classes 
to the barrenest necessaries of life and jealous of 
their least approach to its comforts and refinements. 

But when he reached his office he found a heavy 
mail awaiting him. There was a letter from his 
agent in New York stating that the one hundred 
men he had engaged at Castle Garden awaited 


188 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


shipment and asking 1 further orders. Another was 
from his printer enclosing the posters announcing 
that the quarry would start up with the former 
hands if the3 r chose to return, with new hands if the 
old still stood out against his wages. 

Both of these communications he laid aside with 
a troubled look and turned his attention to the rest. 
For weeks he had been constantly receiving anony- 
mous letters from the strikers, their wives, or daugh- 
ters; and here, now, was a fresh batch; and like all 
anonymous letters, the truths they told were with- 
out any of those polite and respectful reservations, 
and those diplomatic circumlocutions and courtesies 
of speech, which human nature extorts from all men 
when writing an antagonist or adversary over their 
own signature or when speaking to him, face to 
face — at least, so long as any hope of reconciliation 
remains. Pudney was in no condition for bald truths 
nor cold facts, nor for any of those ungentle apos- 
trophes in which people indulge when they write 
anonymous letters. It hardened him at once as it 
had done many a time before since the strike began ; 
and as he crushed up the letters and flung them on 
the blazing grate, his eye fell on the other communi- 
cations. Touching a bell on his desk he said, as the 
summons was answered : 

“Here, Haines, send a telegram to Blake and tell 
him to go ahead; and give these bills to Harriman 
and tell him to post them to-morrow morning.” 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


189 


CHAPTER XXL 

HOW THE STRIKE ENDED. 

The strike had now gone on two months — two 
months of idleness, of suffering', of eating up their 
savings, of helping their unfortunate or shiftless 
fellow workers — two months of praying and wait- 
ing for justice, of waiting for right to prevail over 
wrong, and the Yankee business instinct revolted 
against it all. The great question down in the bot- 
tom of every true Yankee's heart was, does this 
thing pay? Will it ever pay? When, therefore, 
the strikers collected on the common the next morn- 
ing and saw Harriman, the janitor, with paste-pot 
and brush sticking up posters, they flocked around) 
craning their necks over one another's shoulders, 
and eagerly read the announcements; and while the 
paste was still wet on the hills, a long line of men 
reached from the office out to the street. 

The strike was over. Their sufferings, their sac- 
rifices, had been for naught. 

By noon, four hundred men had been enrolled: 
and while fully three hundred more clamored about 
the doors, the books were relentlessly closed. 

Pudney had delicately remained away all day, 
the work of taking back the men being performed 
by Giles, the book-keeper who was furnished with a 
black list containing the names of those under sus- 


190 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


picion of writing 1 anonymous letters and doing sum 
dry acts of vindictiveness. When Giles announced 
that his work was done, murmurs arose on all sides 
and it was long before the tumult was quelled. The 
disappointed ones hung around the quarry all the 
afternoon waiting for Pudney; but he failed to show 
himself that day. The next morning a blinding 
snow storm had set in; yet when Pudney reached 
his office, a howling mob surrounded the door; and 
on all sides he was greeted with yells, groans, and 
curses, intermingled with demands for work, and 
accusations of unfair play. 

Pudnejq muffled to his ears and well powdered 
with snow, forced his way through the crowd with 
a stern, forbidding look, vouchsafing no reply to 
either taunts or supplications. When safe inside he 
called hastily to Giles: 

“For God's sake, go out there and drive those 
infernal hell-hounds off. Tell 'em I hain't got any 
work for 'em.” 

“ Shall I say you will give them work as soon as 
you can ? ” 

“ No ! I'll be damned if you shall ! ” cried Pudney, 
smarting under the execrations and anathemas 
rained down upon him. “ Tell 'em to clear out or 
I'll send for the police, damn 'em!” 

Giles went out and executed the order. The mes- 
sage was received with yells of rage, despair, and 
anger. 

“Boys, boys,” cried Giles, “you had better go 
away or there'll be trouble.” More yells and a 
shower of snowballs greeted this; and he added, 
“You must go right away or we shall send for the 
police.” 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


191 


Another volley of snowballs, harder than the first, 
and more hooting 1 and howling ensued; and Giles 
hastily beat a retreat into the office with a black 
eye and the blood trickling down his face from a cut 
on his forehead. 

“Hell and damnation!” cried Pudney as he be- 
held the condition of his vicegerent. There was 
nothing cowardly about Pudney; and rushing out 
into the storm bareheaded, he bore down upon the 
mob single-handed, armed only with his walking- 
stick. 

“ Damn you ! ” he yelled, “ clear out o’ here or I’ll 
send for the police!” 

“Give us work, work!” yelled a hundred voices. 

“I hain’t got any work for you!” returned Pud- 
ney stoutly; “and I wouldn’t give you any if I had, 
you hell-hounds ! ” 

No valor could withstand the showers of densely 
packed, murderously hard balls of snow which came 
whistling through the air; and Pudney gave up the 
battle and retreated into his office with several cuts 
and bruises and sent for the police. 

“ Haines has gone for them,” replied Giles. “ It’s 
a pity we hadn’t sent for them before,” he added, 
glancing ruefully into a looking-glass opposite, and 
thinking of an engagement he had for that even- 
ing with “his girl.” 

Pudney was too full of wrath to make any reply, 
but gave himself up to watching for the police with 
great anxiety and keeping an eye on the howling 
mob outside. The thickly falling snow prevented 
his perceiving the approach of his rescuers till they 
were at the very doors; then there were cries of, 


192 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


“ Police ! Police ! ” among* the men ; and the mob 
scattered in every direction. 

“ I wonder if anybody got hurt,” muttered Pud- 
ney, trying to conceal his anxiety and pangs of con- 
science. “ Haines, you go out and see. Pd like to 
know just out of curiosity.” 

Haines obeyed and presently reported, “ Nobody 
hurt.” 

Pudney made no reply, tried to look as heartless 
as possible, but was evidently very much relieved, 
and began looking over the list of newly enrolled 
men. 

“I don’t see Lew Harding’s name here, Giles,” he 
said in surprised tones. 

“ Harding didn’t show up,” responded Giles. 

“ I wonder if he’s gone off somewhere else,” mur- 
mured Pudney. “Ben Dodd will know. Haines, 
tell Ben Dodd I wish he’d step into the office before 
he goes home to his dinner.” 

At twelve o’clock Dodd made his appearance, and 
without any perception whatever of the contrast 
between his own rough working-clothes and the 
sleek, opulent attire of his employer and quondam 
friend and associate, he saluted him w r ith all his old 
time familiarity and seated himself unembarrassed 
by any suspicion that he was not as good as Pudney 
or any one else. 

“ Dodd, what’s become of Lew Hardin’ ? ” asked 
Pudney. “ Has he left town ? ” 

“Left town, Lord no! he’s dead broke!” returned 
Dodd in accents half mournful, half contemptuous. 

“How’s that?” cried Pudney in astonishment. 
“He was always savin’, and hadn’t any family. 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


193 


There wasn’t a man in the quarry that made more 
than Lew Hardin’.” 

“ That’s so/’ replied Dodd contemptuously. 
“ Hardin’ can make money fast enough and save it 
for a spell ; hut he can’t hold on to it. Every cent 
he had went to keep up the strike; and now he 
owes me ten dollars for hoard and is down sick at 
my house with rheumatic fever; and Mackintosh 
says it’s likely to strike to the heart; hut I hope 
’twunt ; I don’t want him dyin’ on my hands.” 

Pudney was astonished. 

"A healthy young man like Hardin’ down with 
rheumatic fever! ” 

“ Nothing strange about it,” replied Dodd. “ When 
a man gives away all he’s got, he’s got to go with- 
out himself. Hardin’s gone through enough to kill 
an ox, trampin’ round in the snow and slush with his 
hoots full of holes and settin’ up all night with some 
sick person and his feet soppin’ wet. There’s hen a 
dreadful sight of sickness among the strikers, Pud- 
ney,” he added with a keen look into Pudney’s face. 

“ I suppose,” said Pudney, ignoring the last re- 
mark, “Mackintosh’s hill will be another big debt 
for Hardin’ to pay if he ever gets well.” 

“No, Mackintosh hain’t goin’ to charge him a 
cent,” replied Dodd with great satisfaction, for 
though his own son-in-law, it was a great burden off 
his mind to know that Mackintosh was not going 
to have claims against his insolvent hoarder that 
might militate against his own. “Mackintosh,” 
he added with a gleam of family pride mingled with 
paternal concern, “is a curious critter. Yesty tells 
me he charged a rich old fellow three hundred dol- 

13 


194 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


lars t’other day for cuttin’ a catyrack out of his eye; 
hut he’s hen doin’ thousands of dollars’ worth of 
doctorin’ among- the strikers and hain’t charged ’em 
a cent; and that hain’t all — he’s found lots of ’em 
in medicine, though to .be sure, he gets it cheap,” 
he added with satisfaction. 

“Dodd,” exclaimed Pudney, abruptly, pulling out 
his wallet, “I’ll pay that hill Hardin’ owes you. 
You give me a receipt and if Hardin’ ever gets well 
he can pay me hack; and if he doesn’t, no matter.” 

“Wall, now I’m sure!” cried Dodd joyfully, 
“ that’s very clever in you to do that, Pudney.” 

“But look ahere,” exclaimed Pudney, suddenty 
thinking this might he regarded as a device for re- 
covering his lost popularity at the low price of ten 
dollars, “ I hain’t agoin’ to have this told all over 
town. If you can’t keep it to yourself, that ends it.” 

“ Oh, Lord save you ! 15 exclaimed Dodd with energy, 
thinking Pudney feared an avalanche of had debts 
from the other bankrupt strikers. “You can trust 
me, I guess I know which side o’ my bread is but- 
tered,” then apparently thinking no time like the 
present, he added in fawning tones as he tucked th.e 
hill down into his pocket, “ Pudney, I hope you’re 
goin’ to try to do a little better for us finishers ” — 
(Pudney’s brow darkened) “ soon’s business bright- 
ens up. I don’t say,” he continued as the frown on 
Pudney’s brow deepened to a scowl, “ but what 
you’re givin’ fair ’nough wages to the rest; but for 
us finishers, it’s rather — rather hard. You was a 
finisher, you know, yourself once ” 

“Haines!” shouted Pudney so loud that that in- 
dividual leaped from his stool as if he had been shot. 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


195 


"What’s it mean all my blotters bein’ taken off my 
desk ? ” 

“I— I don’t know,” gasped the terror-stricken 
Haines. "I guess ” 

“ I don’t want no guess-work about it,” roared 
Pudney. “ I want my things let alone.” 

Dodd waited patiently for the storm about the 
blotters to pass away; but suspecting, as Pudney 
continued to uproot and slam things about on his 
desk, his own presence ignored, that possibly his 
remarks about the wages had something to do with 
Pudney ’s sudden burst of ill-temper, he slowly pulled 
on his mittens and reluctantly rose to depart, say- 
ing: 

“Wall, I guess I’ll go,” adding fawningly as he 
opened the door, “ I spose you’ll do what you can 
for us, Pudney. When a man gets to be as old as 
I be, he wants to lay by something for his old age, 
you know; and another thing; I don’t want you to 
think I had a hand in gettin’ up this strike. I was 
the ve^ last man to sign them resolutions. I stood 
out agin it till ’twan’t no use. Wall, good day.” 

“ Good day,” growled Pudney without looking up; 
and as the door closed, his eye falling on Dodd’s 
receipt for the money which he had so philanthrop- 
ically paid, quite forgetting that he was not alone, 
he exclaimed, “ I’d like to know what in the devil I 
paid that bill for ! ” 

“You did it out of the goodness of your heart,” 
echoed a complimentary voice from the corner of 
the room. 

Pudney looked angrily around and uttered one 
unmentionable monosyllable of disgust and con- 


196 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


tempt; and Giles, the mortified proprietor of the 
complimentary voice, concluded that Pudney was 
not talking- to him and that he had better wait till 
he was spoken to before he said anything more. 

At that moment Pudney caught a glimpse of the 
squad of police keeping guard over the quarry. 

“ There'll be another row to-morrow, I spose, when 
those Irishmen get here," he thought to himself. 
“ I shan't send this receipt to Hardin'. It looks too 
much like palava, and try in' to curry favor; and 
nobody's goin' to think I'm afraid to do as I'm a 
mind to." 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


197 


CHAPTER XXII. 

THE CASTLE GARDEN GANG. 

The quarry once more resounded with the clink 
of the hammer; the giant blocks of granite once 
more went on their long procession from the quarry 
to the sheds, from the sheds to the dock; once more 
the Pudney & Walp schooners rode the waves; and 
never before were the profits of the business so large 
and the costs of production so small. Yet Pudney 
was not happy. He still dreamed bad dreams or 
lay awake whole nights trying to go to sleep. All 
was not well by any means. That corner of the 
newspapers, which, for two months, had chronicled 
the labor troubles of the Pudney & Walp Granite 
Quarry, seemed as permanent a feature of the morn- 
ing’s news as the weather probabilities or the Con- 
gressional reports; and so it continued all through 
the spring and far into the summer, culminating, at 
last, in a grand tragic climax. 

The new men signed the pay roll by making their 
mark; and they were not ambitious or high-strung. 
They had no cravings for a “ higher existence ” — 
no aspirations for carpets, or “ stuffed furniture,” or 
education for their children, or for Sundaj^ clothes 
as good as anybody’s, much less for a savings-bank 
account; and Pudney’s wages were ample for all 


198 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


their humble wants. They had no exalted ideas of 
themselves, no inconvenient pride, no extravagant 
tastes, no expensive longings. They were humble 
people and easily convinced that their lot in life was 
good enough for them and needed no improvement, 
and that they were very well off and very comfort- 
able, when they were not starving or freezing. 

And the slums grew apace. They took posses- 
sion of the town with their pigs, their geese, their 
hens, and their innumerable children, and were jolly 
and contented. They were not fastidious, nor ex- 
clusive, and gave themselves no unnecessary anxiety 
about the looks of things or about keeping up ap- 
pearances. It followed as a consequence, that the 
whole aspect and atmosphere, moral and physical, 
of the stone-cutters' quarter underwent a speedy 
metamorphosis. Streets that had formerly been 
cleanly, orderly, quiet, and refined, with their neat 
rows of well-kept houses with flower gardens in 
front, and their dignified, self-respecting inhabitants, 
had become repulsive with noisome smells, and rude, 
coarse, disgusting scenes. The number of families 
to each house seemed limited only by the possible 
number of stove-pipe holes; and the parlor was 
adorned with a cook-stove equally with the kitchen. 

An incredible number of neglected children shared 
the privileges of the gutter with the family pig and 
fowls. Slatternly women sat at front windows all 
day and gossiped with the neighbors across the way; 
or in fair weather they lounged on the front door- 
steps where, on Sundays, they were reinforced b3 r 
the men in patched trousers and ragged hats. They 
had no secrets from the rest of the world; and 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


199 


brawling* women quarreled before open doors and 
windows regardless of passers-by. 

The old inhabitants of the quarter, unused to this 
phase of European civilization — this urban squalor, 
realizing, for the first time, the yawning gulf be- 
tween grades of mankind, looked upon the new- 
comers first with amazement, then with contempt, 
and finally with scorn and hatred for the shame, 
and infamy, and ignominy, to which they degraded 
a common humanity. To widen further the gulf 
between the native and the foreigner, the Irishman 
came with his whiskey-bottle; and ere it was empty 
he was posted on the liquor law and how to evade 
it ; and there sprang into existence numerous secret 
groggeries to discover and exterminate which was 
well-nigh impossible. If one thing more was lack- 
ing to place him irrevocably beyond the pale of 
Yankee sympathies, it was his religion. There was 
nothing at the circus that could more excite Yankee 
risibles than the sight of a man or a woman who 
believed in the pope, thought bread could ever be 
anything but bread, made the sign of the cross, con- 
fessed his sins to mortal man, wore a bit of woolen 
rag down his back for the protection of the Virgin 
Mary, and told off prayers on beads. They stared 
at the Irishman as at a living curiosity, could hardly 
keep their faces straight before him, and found it 
difficult to realize that he possessed the same feel- 
ings, the same nature, as themselves. 

And there was no love lost between the two peo- 
ples. The Irishman was not slow in discovering 
that he was despised. He was warm-hearted, affec- 
tionate, demonstrative, and ready to fall on the neck 


200 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


of the native and hug him with all the joy with 
which his new-found home had filled his heart; but 
he was shrewd and keen, and quickly discerned the 
contempt and aversion with which he was re- 
garded; and he returned hate with hate. 

Yet Pudney was congratulated loy his sympathiz- 
ers on the successful ending of the strike and on the 
masterly policy by which future strikes were to be 
paralyzed. But his mind was far from being at 
peace. There seemed, indeed, little danger of strikes 
among people like these; and Pudney might have 
been satisfied if he had been able to uproot all his 
early prejudices and to convert himself into a differ- 
ent bundle of opinions and beliefs. But accustomed 
as he was to respect his men even in the midst of 
his animosities towards them, imbued with a belief 
in the equality of the human race and the dignity 
of labor, he could not contemplate these foreigners 
without a deep sense of shame, mortification, and 
humiliation. When he first saw their marks on his 
pay roll, he looked almost apoplectic. He had been 
a stonecutter himself not so very long ago; and 
the degradation to which he had lowered himself 
and the old hands, prej^ed on his mind like a night- 
mare; and he was mortified to the soul at the way 
they lived. He was proud of the island town that 
he had done so much to develop; and to see it 
marred by scenes of squalor in his own quarter he 
felt like a personal misfortune; and their violation 
of the liquor law, of which he was an ardent advo- 
cate, cut him to the quick. 

He was brooding over these things continually. 
He was gratified at the increased earnings of his 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


201 


capital; but he reddened at the very mention of his 
new employes. He dreaded to encounter them. 
Many a time he crossed the street and looked the 
other way to avoid speaking to them; for he could 
not acknowledge equality with such as these; and 
he knew not how to treat any man as his inferior. 
He could find no peace anywhere. At home he was 
irritable, morose, and often explosive. In his office, 
and about the quarry, and wherever he came in con- 
tact with the men, the change in his demeanor was 
even more marked. Instead of the open, frank, 
good-natured looks, the familiar nod, the pleasant, 
unreserved chat, the ready jest, he now went about 
gruff and surly, with a careworn, anxious look and 
averted eyes, recognizing no one about him and 
speaking to no one except to give necessary orders; 
while the men — the old hands, at his approach sus- 
pended their conversation, and with sullen faces, 
turned away their eyes. 

All this made Pudney very uncomfortable. He 
was warm-hearted, sympathetic and social by na- 
ture, and liked to be on good terms with everybody 
about him. He liked to be familiar with his men. 
He hated constraint and reserve; he hated frigidity 
and embarrassment; and above all, he hated to feel 
ashamed to look his men in the face. But if heart 
and conscience impelled him to right the wrongs he 
had done, this impulse was constantly neutralized 
by the annoyances to which he was continually sub- 
jected by his enemies. 

The animosities engendered between the two 
classes of his employes intensified the bitterness nat- 
urally felt by those thrown out of employment; and 


202 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


Pudney became the victim of malicious pranks and 
acts of revenge almost every night; while the bud- 
get of anonymous letters filled with curses and 
threats grew day by day. The front of his house 
was painted in vigorous stripes of red and green 
one night; his favorite horse was shorn of her tail 
and mane; and nuisances of one sort or another 
were nightly perpetrated on his lawn, amidst his 
shrubbery, or in his pavilions, compelling him to 
employ watchmen. 

But no sooner was his wrath against the men 
aroused by some freshly discovered outrage, than it 
was forthwith quenched by the very means taken 
to fan it into fuiy. His late partner’s widow, hop- 
ing he would rush down to the quarry and sacrifice 
all the old hands to avenge his wounded feelings, 
was secretly rejoiced at every new act of vandalism. 
She believed devoutly in the Castle Garden gang. 
She believed in humility for the laboring classes. 

“ Then you ought to be satisfied with them Pad- 
dies,” Pudney would say. “ They hain’t stuck-up one 
mite. They hain’t even ashamed because they can’t 
write their own names.” 

“Why should they write their names?” de- 
manded Mrs. Walp. “Education is the bane of the 
working-classes. It fills them with contempt for 
labor, fills them with a desire for everything they 
see others have, and tempts them to squander their 
wages for things beyond their means. It’s cruel to 
educate the working-people because education makes 
them feel their lowliness and renders their work dis- 
tasteful and burdensome.” 

“ You’re wiser than Solomon, Sue. ’Tain’t likely 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


203 


God Almighty calc'labed workin' people to be any 
better than cattle. I "most wonder he didn't make 
'em to go on four legs and he done with it and to 
eat swill like hogs — what we rich folks, we big bugs, 
scrape off our plates; and then we could keep 'em in 
a sty and save the expense of buildin' houses for 'em." 

It was from a discussion like this one evening that 
Pudney retired for the night perfectly resolved to 
be himself the workingman's avenger, his friend, 
his champion. His angriest passions had been 
aroused and all his memories of past struggles with 
poverty awakened — memories of reaching up for a 
higher life, of anxiety for his children's future, of 
indignation towards the rich ; and he felt that the 
workingman's cause was his own ; every sentiment 
of honor, all his sympathies and sense of justice 
loudly urged him to espouse it. 

Full of excitement and wild energy, he lay awake 
revolving in his mind the course he had determined 
to pursue. What to do with the Castle Garden 
gang was the most difficult problem. His head 
ached with the effort of adjusting their claims upon 
him. Unable to settle the matter to his satisfac- 
tion or to dismiss it from his mind and find relief in 
sleep, he rose from his bed and went to the window. 
The room seemed hot. He felt as if he were stifling. 
He walked out upon the balcony. It was a clear, 
starlight night of early summer. The cool, bracing 
air from the sea refreshed him. Still pondering 
over the problems he was unable to dismiss from 
his thoughts, he took no note of anything around 
him till suddenly his attention was attracted by a 
bright red glare shooting up from earth to sky, 


204 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


Plainly enough there was a fire somewhere, and 
surely it was in the direction of the quarry. He 
had been warned by several anonymous communi- 
cations that there were designs on the quarry — there 
had been scarcely an act of midnight revenge com- 
mitted on his property which had not been similarly 
threatened ; and the force of night watchmen had 
been increased. 

He started to his feet, all his schemes for the im- 
provement of the men’s condition forgotten in one 
instant, and at the self-same moment there was a 
terrific explosion that shook the very hills. 

As he rushed inside to dress, his wife, startled 
from her slumbers, cried out in affright. 

It seemed to Pudney in that frenzied moment 
that it was she, their apologist, who was responsible 
for all these fell deeds. 

“Go and look out of the window,” he shouted. 
“ You’ll glory in it! You think they are justified in 
everything they do! The damned hell-hounds! If 
I don’t put them every one in the penitentiary ! ” 

He rushed from the room; the front door banged 
loudly after him ; and then the terrified woman arose 
and faintly tottered to the window. 

It seemed as if the world was on fire. The whole 
northern heavens were ablaze. She could hear the 
roar of the flames where she stood ; and explosion 
followed explosion. 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


205 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

THE WOES OF THE OPPRESSOR BEGIN. 

Pudney was in the midst of a fiery furnace try- 
ing to save his books and papers and cursing the 
firemen for what seemed to him their stupidity and 
apathy, while whole rows of men in whose counte- 
nances the red flames revealed diabolical satisfac- 
tion and glee, stood by with idle hands and vengeful 
hearts, and watched his despair and rage. Then 
something strange occurred. The men who stood 
by laughing in fiendish delight at the destruction 
of their enemy’s property, saw a woman making her 
way through the throng. Not a word she spoke: 
but on and on she pressed towards the burning 
buildings. 

“ Pudney’s wife ! Pudney’s wife ! ” passed from lip 
to lip in accents of horror, shame, and remorse. Was 
she crazy ? Was she maddened by what she saw ? 
Was she bereft of her mind by what had occurred ? 
She seemed bent on walking straight into the burn- 
ing buildings; and then, with one accord, the men 
who, a moment before, stood jeering at Pudney’s 
misfortunes, deaf to the calls of the firemen for 
them to “bear a hand,” fell to work with a will to 
aid in stopping the spread of the flames; and all the 
time, the woman stood with her clasped hands up- 


206 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


raised, her face upturned, and the flames roaring* 
around her. 

“ She’s praying ! " muttered the men under their 
breath. No one interfered with her; and there she 
stood in the lurid glare of that furious conflagra- 
tion, the wind tossing her pale, silver-golden hair, 
her thin white hands clasped below her white face, 
till the flames went out in black darkness. 

It was all around town the next day thab Mrs. 
Pudney was demented — that she had been crazed 
by the fire. The men who had hurried to the aid of 
the firemen apologized for being so recreant to 
themselves by declaring that they pitied the poor 
soul ; yet who gave the poor woman any credit for 
saving the quarry ? It is certain at one time the 
whole long row of buildings belonging to the most 
extensive and superbly equipped granite quarry in 
the country, seemed threatened with utter destruc- 
tion. The water supply was abundant, the fire ap- 
paratus ample and modern, but the firemen seemed 
to have no heart for their tasks but rather to sym- 
pathize with the jeering idle mob around them. But 
no one ever intimated that the pale feeble woman 
who seemed to have lost her wits, had done aught 
to stop the deadly work of the flames. Pudney him- 
self was enraged at her conduct. He was working 
among the men when he first saw her. He had 
enough to do, enough on his mind, he declared, with- 
out having to see that she was not trampled to 
death or overtaken by the fire. 

It was morning when he went home. He was 
worn out with his exertions and soured against all 
mankind. His wife lay pale and wan in an arm- 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


20 ' 


chair near the window. He cast one swi f t glance 
at the worn, haggard expression of her face (what 
age in that face full of beauty — the age of an over- 
worked, feeble woman !) and cried out : 

“ You made a pretty fool of yourself ! What good 
did you think you could do going out there? You 
seem to try your best to worry me to death. I feel 
as if I never wanted to look upon your face again! ” 

They were terrible words; but Pudney in his anger 
was given to saying terrible things which he forgot 
the next moment. He never expected to think of 
these again; but they were destined to come troop- 
ing back into his memory many and many a time in 
all the rest of the years of his life. 

The poor woman said nothing; and Pudney hur- 
riedly dressed, ate his breakfast, and returned to the 
quarry. He was engaged with the insurance ad- 
justers when a message arrived that his wife wanted 
to see him. 

Pudney stared and glared. 

“ She’s side. The doctor sent for you.” 

He started for the house thinking of those last 
words. When he reached the door, a group of his 
household employes were excitedly whispering in 
the hall. At the head of the stairs, the door of his 
wife’s room opened and his two eldest daughters 
and their brother came forth with their faces decor- 
ously composed; while at the same moment he heard 
the voice of his youngest daughter in loud, agonized 
lamentations* and he realized that he had come 
too late! 


208 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

EMMIE’S MYSTERIOUS CORRESPONDENT. 

To all external appearances, barring a highly fash- 
ionable and tasteful employment of crape at Sea- 
view, the world, after Mrs. Pudney ’s death, went on 
as ever. . 

Pudney rose from his ashes better off than before, 
the vengeance of his misguided adversaries having 
fallen more heavily on the insurance companies than 
on him. The new buildings were more modern, 
more capacious, and possessed long-desired facili- 
ties for business which he would otherwise not have 
added for years to come. But for all this, Pudney 
was not himself. He went about crabbed and ill- 
natured and unable to speak a civil word to any one; 
and everything that served to remind him of his 
wife’s death, deepened the scowls on his brow and 
the surliness of his manner. He glowered at the 
very crape on his hat. His whole manner and at- 
titude towards the world was wrathful, resentful, 
and unforgiving. 

Mrs. Pudney, with almost her last breath, had 
charged those about her to urge him to leave his 
enemies to God; but he was ferocious in pursuit of 
the miscreants who had started the fire and set the 
blasts at the quarry. He regarded the fire as the 
direct cause of her death and would listen to no 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


209 


word of mercy. Long- after the authorities had 
given up the search as bootless, he continued, though 
to no purpose, increasing the rewards for their ap- 
prehension. 

As to the rest of the family, the two eldest Miss 
Pudneys and their brother, Dick, bore their trying 
position of bereaved young persons with becoming 
fortitude and equanimity. It could not be truth- 
fully said that the young ladies were absolutely 
heartless and that they were absolute^ untouched 
by their mother's death. When they fully realized 
that she would trouble them no more, they were 
aghast at the suddenness of it; and it must be con- 
fessed they were penetrated, for a few brief mo- 
ments, with the pathos of the familiar face when 
they realized that her eyes were closed forever. A 
few hot tears rolled down their cheeks and their 
spirits were uncomfortably depressed; so they 
sought to shake off their . wretched gloom. They 
dried their tears and began trying to restore them- 
selves to cheerfulness, at least in private, by calling 
to mind such consolatory circumstances as might 
tend to reconcile them to their bereavement. 

“ She was so queer," sighed one. 

“ She is better off," murmured the other. 

But their brother was truly cast down. “She 
was a good woman, anyhow," he declared. “ I don't 
know what will become of me now." 

What was to become of him was very soon set- 
tled. A drinking man in a temperance community 
goes to perdition across lots, especially a young man 
of leisure with plenty of money. Society would have 
nothing to do with him; and all his waking hours 

14 


210 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


he passed at "his club ” which, besides himself, was 
comprised of three other young men of means with 
similar tastes and habits. The great Mrs. Simpson, 
to her endless regret, made one futile attempt to 
force society to take them up. She gave a ball and 
invited the whole club which included her own pre- 
cious Joshy ; but they could find no partners; for the 
young ladies knew if they were seen on the floor 
with any of the crew, they would spend the rest of 
the evening adorning the wall. Dick and Joshy at- 
tempted to dance together in a quadrille; but they 
could find no set that would hold together after 
they entered it. They waltzed with one another a 
few times ; but this was their last social appearance 
in the town. Dinners, balls, and parties without 
number, went on all around them; but the} 7 received 
no invitations; the ladies were never at home when 
they called ; and society people, despite their high 
connections, would scarcely recognize them on the 
street. Indeed, the great Mrs. Simpson herself, 
nearly lost her social position as the result of her 
indiscretion. So these young men were compelled 
to seek their diversion at their club, telling one an- 
other, in tones of great social superiority and pre- 
eminence, what fine fellows they would be in New 
York, Philadelphia, or Paris. 

Pudney had no idea what to do with a son who 
could read Greek and Latin ; indeed, he felt it pre- 
sumptuous on his part to give him any advice; and 
his complexion went on getting worse and still his 
father was unable to believe the boy was an inebri- 
ate till he saw him in delirium tremens, and before 
the year was out, he filled a drunkard’s grave ! 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


211 


The two eldest Miss Pudr^s, in the enforced idle- 
ness of bereaved young* ladies, passing* their season 
of mourning* in retirement, beg*an to take much no- 
tice of the coming's and going’s of their younger sis- 
ter. In the first days following the death of their 
mother and immediately after the funeral, her com- 
pany was unbearable to them both. Her hysterical 
grief was intolerable to them. They not only rigidly 
refrained from seeking her in her room where she 
passed the greater part of the time, but they stead- 
fastly kept to their own in their dread of accident- 
ally encountering her about the house. 

But after those first days of wild sobbing, of 
swelled eyelids, and sudden outbursts of hysteria 
were over, they began to take an interest in her 
peculiar movements. They wondered, in the ab- 
sence of other diversions, what she was doing. They 
almost invariably found her before her desk gravely, 
sometimes tearfully, writing letters. Sometimes 
they found her reading a letter; and she always 
quietty folded it up, and at once locked it away^ with- 
out a word. 

Who could her correspondent be ? She gave noth- 
ing to the servants to post, and, still more strange, 
nothing came to her at the house. Whence were 
those long, bulky letters which she was always just 
hiding away so innocently the moment they ap- 
peared 9 

To intensify their curiosity, she was not always 
to be found when they sought her; and her long and 
frequent absences were as inexplicable as her letter- 
writing 

They determined to go to the bottom of the mat- 


212 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


ter and soon found means to open the desk in the 
absence of its owner. Within, they found a great 
deal more in the way of literary industry than they 
had looked for. There were several packages of 
letters both thick and thin, but mostly thick, all tied 
up with blue ribbon. All were in the same hand- 
writing— a most beautiful, scholarly, masculine hand, 
neat and legible as well as elegant; and none of 
them had come through the mails. 

Here was a full week’s work before these two es- 
timable young ladies; and it was far from certain 
how soon the crafty little creature who had so long 
carried such an audacious secret in her breast, would 
return and surprise them. But by virtue of indus- 
trious effort and a division of labor, they possessed 
themselves of several astounding facts. 

First, the letters, hard as it was to believe, were 
all signed “ Hurlborough ! ” 

The two Miss Pudneys clasped their hands in 
amazement and looked into one another’s faces. It 
was all clear now — that whole strange affair at Ab- 
sequam ! The correspondence was begun three years 
ago (Emmie was but fourteen then); and, although 
the. vast majority were answers to questions pro- 
pounded by that inveterate seeker after knowledge, 
they abounded with expressions of the tenderest 
affection, with allusious to many happy hours they 
had passed together, and to a first meeting at the 
Devil’s Jaws when the daring young poacher, pick- 
ing up shells in the cave, had been overtaken by the 
rising tide and was rescued by the writer. 

All through the letters he called her by all man- 
ner of fond names, “ my dear little one,” “ my child,” 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


213 


“my little girl,” “ my little questioner,” and what 
not. There were reminiscences of boating excur- 
sions, of sails, of picnics on the beach, of botanizing 
trips in the woods, constant allusions to “when you 
were here yesterday,” “ when you come to-morrow ; ” 
frequent mention of a hiding-place where they con- 
cealed their letters for one another; but the pre- 
vailing tenor of almost the whole voluminous corre- 
spondence was scientific and literary. The duke 
seemed to be a mine of knowledge into which the 
young girl was delving with all her might. But the 
later letters were in a different tone. Something, 
it was not quite clear what— some unforeseen acci- 
dent for which the duke bitterly reproached himself, 
had put a sudden period to their excursions. 

After that there were no more fond expressions, 
no more allusions to recent meetings, only mention 
of seeing her in the chapel ; then came the letters 
that told the whole story of that last farewell at 
Absequam, and they constantly denied the young 
girl's petition for just one more visit. But there 
were still later letters written since her mother's 
death; and from these, it was clear enough her peti- 
tion had at last been granted. She had resumed 
the old life — she was passing her hours with the 
duke at the Devil's Jaws! 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


214 


CHAPTER XXV. 

WHAT HAD BECOME OF EMMIE. 

Pudney was undeniably superstitious. He was 
by no means a believer in Spiritualism ; but it always 
seemed to him, do what he would to shake it off, 
that “ Lib ” was around somewhere and saw every 
thing* he did. He even felt that she possessed more 
omniscient attributes than she did in life and that 
she knew his most secret thought as it passed 
through his mind. He felt this all the more strongly 
at night after the lights were out, and he had, of 
late, fallen into the habit of sleeping by gaslight. 
He had made up his mind during the broad, bright 
light of day that he would never again consider any 
project for the benefit of his men or pay them any 
more than he could help. Their hand was against 
him; and hereafter, his hand should be against them. 
He had fully determined by daylight that he could 
not afford to run the quarry on a woman’s ideas of 
business, least of all a woman who was always read} 7 
to give away his entire income if he would let her. 

“Poor Lib,” he thought to himself, “what a 
shame for her to die just as we’ve got rich! after 
bein’ poor all her life ! But what did she know about 
business? She shall have the handsomest monu- 
ment in the State of Maine; but I hain’t agoin’ to 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


215 


let everybody get rich at my expense after servin’ 
me the way they have.” 

Having thus mentally disposed of the business by 
daylight, he tried hard to stand to It all through 
the darkness of the night. The quarry had been 
running for three months at the old starvation 
rates prevailing before the fire, and Pudney had 
been sleeping by gaslight and looking over his 
shoulder for “ Lib ” every time he strolled out on 
the balcony in front of his windows after dark; and 
his temper and nerves were both in a bad way when, 
on the 15th of December, scarcely a year after the 
first disastrous strike, he received private intima- 
tions that the men were getting ready to go out by 
the first of the month unless their wages were raised 
all around. 

He went home that day in a ferocious state of 
mind. A strike at that time meant heavy losses to 
him. There was but one alternative; either he must 
bring more men from Castle Garden to the island 
or let his enemies prevail. But he despised the Cas- 
tle Garden gang as much as ever he did; and on the 
other hand, coercion was something he couldn’t 
stand. He loved money as much as ever; and to 
curtail the profits of his business for the benefit of 
his enemies or those who sympathized with his ene- 
mies, went terribly against the grain. 

As he sat involved in these perplexities, the door 
opened and Emmie entered. 

“ O father,” she cried eagerly, as she saw him, “ I 
am glad you have come home. I have something to 
tell you. I received a letter this morning signed ‘A 
Stonecutter’s Wife,’ and it was very sad. Don’t you 


216 


PtJDNEY & WALP. 


think, father, you can see your way clear to raising 
the men’s wages soon ? They think it is going to 
be a very hard, Cold winter.” 

Pudney was perfectly silent. He sat looking 
fixedly out of the window, apparently giving no heed 
whatever to his daughter’s presence. She waited a 
long time for a- reply, eagerly scanning his averted 
face; and at last, concluding that he did not intend 
to pay any attention to her appeal, the tears came 
into her eyes, and in a moment she said in a very 
soft, low voice : 

“ Father, you may think I ought not to trouble 
you with these requests ; but ” 

She hesitated. Her voice had grown tremulous. 
Her father shifted about uneasily in his chair, 
drummed on the desk before him, but continued to 
look steadfastly out of the window. 

Wiping away her silent tears, the girl resumed in 
the same low voice. 

“ Father, you know who it was that left me this 
solemn bequest to plead with you for the men.” 

Then Pudney went to pieces all at once. 

Bringing his fist down violently upon his desk, 
his face livid with rage, he shouted in loud, harsh 
tones : 

God! I wunt put up with this no longer! 
Here you’ve ben houndgin’ me, and houndgin’ me, 
till Pm ’most ravin’ crazy! Now by God! I hain’t 
goin’ to stand it no longer! No matter where I go, 
you dog me around; and I can’t get no peace in my 
own house! Now I’m goin’ to be my own master. 
You’re old enough to take care of yourself and earn 
your own livin’; and I want you to pack up your 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


217 


traps and clear out! and the sooner you go the 
better ! ” 

What more he said in his wrath he could never 
remember. The longer he continued giving full rein 
to his angiy passions, the more violent he became. 
Emmie was completely overwhelmed. She stood 
white and speechless, gazing at him in terror till 
aroused by hearing him shouting : “ Get out of my 

sight! I never want to lay eyes on ye again!” 
then she turned and fled from the room. 

His eyes followed her wrathfully till the door 
closed her from view; then he sank down and stared 
blankly out of the window. 

At dinner, Emmie was not at the table. Her 
father saw the vacant place, but kept his eyes 
averted from it as though the chair contained her 
ghost. When her sisters, unaware of any trouble, 
elevated their eyebrows and asked their papa 
“ where our little Emmie could be,” the satirical 
question they always propounded whenever she had 
chanced to be late at meals since their labors at her 
writing-desk, he scowled fiercely and growled, “ How 
in hell do you spdse I know ? ” 

But when she failed to appear at tea time also, he 
hastened through the meal, left the table abruptly, 
and went out into the kitchen where Lydia Jewell 
was assisting Miss Pillsbury in making toast. 

“ Lyddy ,” he said beckoning to that young wo- 
man, “ I want to speak to you.” 

Miss Jewell left the toaster with a look of sur- 
prise and curiosity, and followed her master into 
the library. 

“ Come in,” he said ; and as she followed him in, 


218 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


he closed the door. “ Look here, Lyddy,” he began 
in confidential tones, “ I want you to do something 
for me.” 

“ Land sakes ! what’s the matter ? ” cried* Miss 
Jewell, overcome with curiosity at Pudney’s strange 
demeanor. 

“ I want you to go up to Emmie’s room,” he re- 
plied in the same confidential tones, “ and tell her 
I’m goin’ to Boston next week. You tell her I for- 
got to speak about it this mornin’. Don’t forget 
to tell her that. And tell her I’ll carry her with me 
if she’d like to go ; and I’ll show her all the sights. 
Tell her I’ll see she has a good time.” 

“Why my land sakes!” screamed Miss Jewell, 
staring at the lord of the manor with undisguised 
ridicule and amazement, “what do you want me to 
tell her that for ? Why don’t you tell her your- 
self?” 

Pudney recognized the fact that Miss Jewell had 
been hired to perform domestic labors in his house- 
hold ; and although she was expected to make her- 
self “generally useful” he never thought of strain- 
ing the point but replied in a peevish, whining tone: 

“ Come now, Lyddy, why can’t you do what I 
want you to ? Hain’t I always done my best by 
you ? ” and then lowering his voice he added implor- 
ingly, “You go and do it. I’ve had <a fuss with Em 
and I want to make up.” 

“Oh!” cried Miss Jewell in seraphic tones, “I’ll 
do it then! Why didn’t you say so before!” and 
off she whisked to show her accommodating spirit. 

She was back in a minute saying, “ She isn’t in her 
room and I couldn’t find her anywheres.” 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


219 


Pudney staggered back aghast. He thought she 
had been shut up in her room all day lying on the 
bed crying her eyes out. 

"Then, Lyddy,” he exclaimed in excited tones, 
" you go and find her. Look everywhere. Go out 
on the lawn; look in all the arbors.” 

"Well, I hain't et my supper yet,” replied Miss 
Jewell; "but I’ll go. But land sakes!” she added, 
"she hain't outdoors; it's pitch dark and freezin' 
cold!” 

She yielded, however, to Pudney's logic that " she 
must be somewhere ; ” and since she was not in the 
house, it followed that she must be out of it; and 
she obligingly deferred the demands of her appetite, 
threw on a shawl, and with a lantern in her hand, 
searched the grounds front and back; then she re- 
turned and announced : 

" She hain’t nowheres! ” 

Pudney, by this time, was thoroughly alarmed. 
He never could conceive what was going on in other 
people's minds, never could discern other people's 
motives, never could, by any chance, divine the 
probable course of an}^ person's action under any 
given circumstances. 

All he could think of now was, how pale, and 
scared, and heart-broken the poor child looked, and 
that he had turned her out of the house and she had 
taken him at his word ; and for the life of him he 
could think of no place at which she could or would 
have taken refuge. She was always a studious, 
home child and had no intimate friends. She had 
ever been free to come and go at her will by day- 
light; but she was always at home by nightfall. 


220 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


Where, then, could she be ? Only one appalling ex- 
planation presented itself to his agonized mind. 

She must have gone and drowned herself! 

“ Give me the lantern, Lyddy,” he said in husky 
tones. “ Go and eat your supper. I ’spect it must 
be stone cold. Pm much obliged to you, Lyddy. 
You needn’t say nothin’ about this, Lyddy.” 

“You are quite welome, I’m sure, Mr. Pudney,” 
cordially replied Miss Jewell, “and you needn’t 
worry about me mentionin’ it,” she added in com- 
forting tones. “I know how to keep a still tongue 
as well as the next one ; ” and she went out and 
during the ensuing tea festival, she poured forth the 
whole strange tale in mumbled whispers and under- 
tones into the astonished and sympathizing ear of 
Miss Pillsbury, the cook. 

Meanwhile, Pudney, with blanched face and beat- 
ing heart, regardless of the pitiless wind that blew 
in from the sea, searched the beach for the mangled 
and bleeding form of his poor, homeless child tossed 
up by the angry waves upon the jagged, cruel rocks. 
He walked a mile or more along the shore both 
ways, scanning the ground for footprints, going out 
on the rocks and swinging his lantern over the 
breaking waves, and straining his eyes for the awful 
object of his search. 

But he found nothing; and making his way home- 
ward, he went to the stable and ordered the aston- 
ished hostler to saddle his horse. It was after nine 
o’clock and a forlorn hope, indeed, but he was going 
to Absequam. Keeping his own counsel, he rode off 
into the darkness, a wretched man. Emmie and 
her aunt were far from intimate friends; but where 
else could he look ? 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


221 


Mrs. Walp was full of wonderment when she saw 
him. His pallid, woebegone face, as well as the 
lateness of the hour, filled her with alarm. 

"What's the matter?" she cried sharply. She, 
too, had heard of the threatened strike; and she 
thought the quarry had been blown up again. 

"Nothin', nothin' at all," replied Pudney with af- 
fected unconcern. " I was near here and I thought 
I’d call and see you, that's all, though it's rather 
late." 

He talked of indifferent matters; and as she made 
no mention of Emmie's being there, he, at last, un- 
able to endure further suspense, asked in tones of 
pretended indifference, " Has Em ben here to-day ? " 

" Em ? Why no, she hasn't been here this ever 
so long." 

" My God ! then where can she be ! Sue, for God's 
sake tell me what you think! Em is nowhere to be 
found ! " 

" Tell me, tell me all about it ! Tell me the par- 
ticulars!" cried Mrs. Walp, breathlessly, a pinkish 
tinge suffusing her face. But her tones indicated 
joy rather than anxiety. 

" Sue, you must know something," cried Pudney 
searching her face eagerly. " Don't keep anything 
back from me, for God’s sake, Sue, don't," he 
pleaded. 

"On my soul and honor I don't know a thing!" 
protested Mrs. Walp. "Tell me what’s happened 
or I shall expire with agony." 

"Why the whole sum and substance of it is," re- 
turned Pudney bluntly, " I got mad with Em this 
morning and told her to clear out and earn her own 


222 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


livin’; and she’s taken me at my word. Anyhow, 
she’s nowhere to he found. Now, Sue, you know 
something ! I can see it in your eye ! ” 

Mrs. Walp did, indeed, look as though she "knew 
something.” She sank back in her chair, pursed up 
her lips, looked off into the misty distance of a fine 
landscape before her on the wall, and seemed to be 
trying to see something just a little beyond her 
vision. 

" I don’t know a thing, I declare I don’t ! ” she cried 
again and again. "We must await developments. 
I’ll be over in the morning; and oh, I do hope noth- 
ing evil has befallen our poor dear Emmie!” 

Pudney stared at her long and helplessly, and 
with his usual lack of discernment, concluded that 
she wanted to go to bed and that she was anxious 
to get rid of hiffi; and remounting his horse, he rode 
home with a heavy heart. 

At intervals all night long he walked the floor of 
his room or went out upon the balcony and listened 
to the awful roar of the sea; and a thousand times 
he fancied he could hear her shrieking above the 
tumult of the breakers. Not a moment did he close 
his eyes in sleep. At the first break of day he was 
out on the beach again, expecting to find the sea 
had yielded up its dead. 

At half-past eight he looked into the dining-room, 
hoping to find she had returned and was peaceably 
eating her breakfast, a live, healthy young woman 
still ; but only the two eldest Miss Pudney s were 
there; and their greetings made his soul sick. 

" What in the world can have become of our inno- 
cent little cherub, Emmie ? ” cried out Laura. "She 
has not slept in her bed the live-long night ! ” 


PUDNEY & W ALP. 


223 


“You better eat what’s set before you, and let 
your victuals stop 3 r our mouth/’ growled her father; 
and leaving them to talk about him behind his back 
in their usual high-minded way, descanting on the 
vulgarity of that gross word “ victuals,” he went 
into the library, and throwing himself wearily into 
a chair, with his elbows on his knees and his head 
upon his hands, he groaned in anguish of spirit. 

While he sat there, a carriage rolled up the grav- 
eled way. He heard but heeded not. In a few mo- 
ments the door was opened and Mrs. Walp, in ex- 
cited accents, cried : 

“ What news from dear Emmie ?” 

Pudney looked up, wretched, hopeless, wan, and 
spiritless, and replied in tones of abject despair: 

“None, Sue. She’s dead.” 

“What do you mean by that?” shrieked Mrs. 
Walp, turning pale. 

“ She’s dead, I tell you, Sue ; and I killed her. I’m 
her murderer.” 

“O my senses!” cried Mrs. Walp, “what’s the 
use for .you to frighten me to death ! You’ve got no 
reason on earth for thinking she is dead.” 

“ Sue, I tell you Emmie’s dead,” he reiterated with 
tearless eyes in the same accents of despair; “ and 
I haven’t even ben able to find her body yet.” 

Just at that moment they heard the sound of a 
horse’s hoofs in the carriage way, and Mrs. Walp 
cried out: 

“ Here’s a man on horseback ! ” 

In her eagerness and anxiety, for she recognized 
the man, she ran herself to the door and returned 
with a note addressed to the master of the house. 


224 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


“Read it quick !” she cried. “It's news from 
Emmie, Fm sure ! ” 

“There’s no such good news as that, Sue,” re- 
turned Pudney opening the letter with apathy. 

The next moment he was raving. 

“My God! she’s married that hunchback! And 
I drove her to it ! ” 

Mrs. Walp sprang upon the letter he had hurled 
upon the floor. It was from Dr. Houghton and 
briefly announced that, he had married Emmie to 
the duke the day before. 

“ Heaven be praised ! ” cried Mrs. Walp. “ I knew 
it last night ! I was satisfied of it ! Oh, I couldn’t 
tell you ! ” she cried, anticipating Pudney’s wrath. 
“ It would have been premature. And so our dear 
little Emmie is a duchess! She was always such a 
sweet child ! ” 

“ But, my God, that hunchback ! and he almost as 
old as I am ! ” groaned Pudney. 

“No matter, no matter, he’s a duke!” cried Mrs. 
Walp. “He might crawl on all fours and every- 
body would respect him and look up to him. Think 
how envious everybody was when he came to my 
party!” 

“ Oh, to think I drove that poor child to this ! ” 
moaned Pudney, disregarding her chatter. “But 
how in the name of God,” he cried, as he partially 
recovered from the first stunning effects of the blow, 
“ did she come to know the duke well enough to go 
to him — and he — the damned scoundrel! to take 
such an advantage of her ! ” 

Mrs. Walp was very discreet. She was not equal 
to sacrificing herself for other people; but she could 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


225 


keep a secret if it was not too hard when she knew 
its exposure would result in family difficulties; so 
she replied oracularly : 

“Take my word for it, Emmie knew the duke 
well. They have been acquainted a long time — so I 
have recently learned — too recently, you understand, 
to have altered the current of events. She should 
not have married for a year yet, with my consent,” 
she added with an air of responsibilitj^. “A mere 
child of seventeen — seventeen years and five months, 
and not yet out; hut it’s done and the Duke of 
Hurlborough can do anything.” 

“Well,” sighed Pudney, “I don’t hardly know 
whether I feel any better to know she’s alive and 
married to such a critter as that ! I can’t bear the 
thoughts of her throwing herself away so. It’s no 
use tryin’ to make me believe she can be happy 
married like that.” 

“ Well, now, come,” cried Mrs. Walp, “to disabuse 
your mind of all idea that Emmie has sacrificed her- 
self, I will just divulge the fact that she has loved 
the duke for three years! They have been corre- 
sponding all that time, but he was too generous to 
accept her love on account of his physical defects 
and the disparity of their ages. Does that satisfy 
you ? ” 

Pudney sat staring at her in stolid amazement as 
she thus rattled off this free, and somewhat imagi- 
native translation of the facts in her possession. 

“ I can’t hardly believe all that, Sue. What 
makes you think it’s so ? ” 

“ That I am not at liberty to tell you,” then after 
a moment’s thought she added, “I will just say this: 
i5 


226 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


the facts are in my possession. What I assert, I 
know to be true; but I am not free to explain the 
source of my information.” 

“Well, Sue,” returned Pudney, “ if what you say 
is true, it’s a burden off my mind. If she loves him, 
Pm satisfied. IPs none of my business how he looks 
or how old he is if he suits her. But I can’t stand 
it to have him think I was in earnest about turnin’ 
Em out-doors; and gallin’ as ’tis, I’ll have to write 
to the duke and tell him so.” 

“Oh, that will be so noble!” cried Mrs. Walp. 
“ But you better let me compose your letter.” 

“ No I wunt. Sue, thank you all the same. I h ain’t 
afraid to write to a duke. It’ll be mighty short and 
sweet. And then there’s another thing. He hain’t 
goin’ to think he’s married a pauper. I shall turn 
him over Em’s share of what I’ve got and I’m goin’ 
to send her some diamonds.” 

“Oh, Pm so thankful this romance has ended so 
delightfully!” cried Mrs. Walp in ecstasy. “I only 
wish I knew if the duke will accompany our darling 
Emmie into society.” 

“Let ’em do as they please!” cried Pudney. 
“He’s of age if she isn’t; and now she’s married, 
she’s got no boss but him.” 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


22 ' 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

PUDNEY GOES COURTING. 

Pudney kept his promise and sent Emmie a 
magnificent dower— sent it with all his heart, sent 
it with pride and the deepest satisfaction; and not 
one twinge of grudging, not one regret, at parting 
with such a bundle of government and railroad 
bonds, marred his perfect joy and satisfaction. He 
also kept his other promise and erected the finest 
monument in the State of Maine to “poor Lib.” It 
cost a lot of money and was a wonder in its way; 
and everybody who visited the island went to see 
it. On a clear day it was visible two miles at sea. 

But strange bundle of contradictions, he stoutly 
refused to raise the men’s wages and he didn’t raise 
them; and the men went out a second time. It was 
not alone that avarice had him fast in her clutches; 
not alone that he wanted money for himself and 
his own. He had been cut out, in the beginning, for 
the workingman’s friend; but hearts rule more than 
heads in this world of ours; and Pudney had been 
badly spoiled for labor’s sympathizer by strikes and 
anonymous diatribes, as well as by mobs and the 
midnight torch, the bomb, and other lawless argu- 
ments, powerful or puny. 

The second strike ended like the first; and while 
the workingman was hurling maledictions at him 


228 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


and despitefully using him, the aristocrats smiled 
upon him, heaped him with h nors and favors, and 
rained congratulations upon him ; and it never oc- 
curred to him to love his enemies or bless those that 
cursed him. On the contrary, the chasm between 
Pudney, the millionaire, and Pudney, the stone-cut- 
ter, grew wider, deeper, more impassable than ever. 
He had gone over to the aristocrats, heart, soul and 
body. After the first strike, he hated to speak to the 
men because he was ashamed to look them in the face ; 
but by the time he was well through the second one, 
he found that he could not afford to speak to them. 

But with all the affection of the aristocracy for 
him, Pudney was always thinking in his heart, “All 
these bigbugs care about me is my money ; ” and yet, 
so fond was he, at this time, of their caresses (for 
everybody must have the love of somebody and his 
own class had thrown him over), that his craving 
for wealth grew all the more insatiable. Money, 
money, that he must get, or perish for want of the 
only thing he wanted — love. 

Grasping thus for riches, he began to see a way 
clear, at last, by which ^ as he thought, he could re- 
cover what he had lost by admitting Tom Walp 
into partnership. At all events, if this was not his 
scheme, of what could he have been thinking, when 
he dismissed his old friends and former cronies, and 
allowed Walp’s beautiful widow to install the 
African in power at Seaview ? Why did he begin to 
think about his grammar and stop pouring tea into 
his saucer; and why did he stand by the aforesaid 
charming widow as she sat looking upon the sea and 
murmur: 


PUDNEY & WALP. 229 

“ If there is anything* more I can do to please you, 
Sue, you just name it! '' 

And Sue — why did she roll her eyes up to the sky 
and say so innocently: “ Tear down the shanty.” 
Whence could she think came this recently acquired 
power over Pudney ? But whatever she thought, 
she could scarcely have remained in the dark when 
Pudney struck an attitude and cried out with ardor: 

“ Sue, do you know what you ask when you ask 
me to tear down that shanty ? '' 

“ I do, I do. I understand it perfectly well ! ” was 
the wily widow's reply. 

“ The shanty shall be torn down, Sue, before sun- 
rise to-morrow! There's my hand on it!'' 

After this, Pudney must have considered the Walp 
estate as good as his own; he felt increased gratifi- 
cation at the contemplation of its vast proportions; 
and he certainly put on his necktie and surveyed 
the diamonds in his shirt bosom every day .with 
Mrs. Walp's approving eyes resting in imagination 
upon him. He had never been a vain man before; 
but he now took to inspecting himself in the mirror 
(he used a hand-glass now for the first time in his 
life), and wondered if Sue thought he was too stout. 
Not a day passed but his horse's hoofs started up 
the birds and squirrels in Absequam Woods; and 
the fair widow seemed to grow more and more beau- 
tiful with every visit, and more and more gracious 
and winning. 

She had laid aside her widow's weeds and had re- 
turned to society; and Absequam once more was 
resplendent with gaiety and fashion. Its fair owner 
had ceased to bathe her lonely pillow nightly with 


PUDNEY & t WALP. 


^230 

tears. She had her own youth to console her, her 
warm blood, and her craving- for joys. She could 
endure low spirits and melancholy moods no longer. 
She could no longer mourn for the dead; she was 
far too much alive herself. She had not by an} r 
means ceased to be awfully sorry for poor Tom. 
She still pitied him dreadfully; hut she no longer 
wanted to see him, in fact would have been ashamed 
to look him in the face; for she had decided to 
marry again. How was it possible to do otherwise 
with her head so full of dreams ? 

But she had changed her mind about marrying a 
title. She was too rich not to indulge in everything 
she wanted ; and what she wanted most was a lover. 
She could not contemplate the idea of giving up 
sentiment, romance and poetry, for an impecunious 
wretch who coolly offered to swap a coronet for a 
fortune. She was rejoiced to have a duke in the 
family; but for herself, “ Give me a lover — one that 
can truly make me as happy as poor Tom.” 

And it appears she was not doomed to die disap- 
pointed. 

One day — it was now almost a year since poor 
Lib’s death, Pudney, with his heart full of bright 
hopes and fond anticipations, was riding gallantly 
through Absequam Woods to the castle, when, 
through the foliage of climbing vines around a rus- 
tic arbor, he espied fluttering ribbons and then a 
man’s arm encircling a beautiful bodice. Absequam 
was full of guests and the two Miss Pudneys were 
visiting their aunt. It might be Laura or Hat. He 
hoped so. 

“God knows I’m anxious enough to have them 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


231 


get married. I want them off my hands. Pd buy 
’em a husband apiece at any price to get rid of ’em,” 
he said to himself; hut he wanted to know who the 
fellow was; and he looked again. 

What a change can he wrought in the spirit of a 
man by one glance of the eye! What a world of 
knowledge one glance can reveal ! 

The man was Wolferts, the woman, Sue! 

But he rode manfully on to Absequam and dis- 
mounted. Mrs. Walp found him sitting on the piazza 
alone, watching a game of lawn tennis and trying 
hard to look happy and unconcerned. She was 
alone; for Wolferts had magnanimously consented 
to depart and leave her to break the news to him 
unaided. 

She came up, said good morning, fanned herself 
with a huge fan, talked awhile about eve^thing 
else, and then said airily she had something funny 
to tell him. 

“ That’s so ? ” queried Pudney, trying hard to look 
unconscious. “ What is it ? ” 

“ Why, don’t you think Pm going to get married ! ” 
she cried gaily. 

“Well, that’s right!” replied Pudney cordially. 
“You need somebody to take care of your money.” 

“Yes, and of me, too, Pm so mortally afraid of 
burglars ! ” 

“If you’re only goin’ to be married to a man of 
the right stamp, that’s all,” responded Pudney pro- 
tectingly. 

“ Well, I am ! ” she replied confident^. “ It’s Mr. 
Wolferts.” 

“ Wolferts ? ” cried Pudney with affected jncredul- 


232 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


ity and real contempt. He had no thought of quar- 
reling with destiny or of altering her opinion of the 
man she loved; he merely spoke out of the fullness 
of his heart; and his heart was very full of ugly 
opinions of Wolferts just then. “Pm real sorry to 
hear that, Sue! A woman like you to throw your- 
self away on Wolferts/' 

Mrs. Walp possessed infinite compassion for her 
numerous disappointed lovers; and she only con- 
templated a rose in her hand and replied sweetly 
and lazily : 

“Mr. Wolferts is ever so agreeable when you 
come to know him well. I like him first rate — and 
he’ll do to keep burglars away. He's a dead shot; 
and then he's capital company. Oh, such an inter- 
esting talker; and you know how divinely he plays 
and sings." 

“Well, Sue," replied Pudney, testily, “if he suits 
you, 'tain't any of my business. But you keep your 
money in your own hands. Remember that." 

“Oh, as to that, Mr. Wolferts declares he will 
have nothing to do with my property." 

“ Humph ! Pve heard of people's talkin' that way 
before!" returned Pudney sarcastically. “But you 
keep him at his word ! I spose you wunt, though. 
He will have everything in his hands in no time and 
you'll be a beggar ! " 

The lovely widow sat listlessly toying with her 
fan, thinking to herself, “ What an old fool Pudney 
is ! The idea of trying to set a woman against a 
man she's crazy in love with! Well, that comes of 
his being in love with me himself; so I can easily in- 
dulge him in his spleen," and looking up archly she 
replied : 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


233 


“ He’ll have to support me anyhow ! ” 

“ How can he support you if he runs through with 
all you’ve got?” growled Pudney. 

“ Oh, I shall make him work, or he can go into the 
hen business again.” 

“ Nice prospect for you, I vow ! ” returned Pudney. 

“Yes,” drawled the widow, looking about on the 
magnificent lawn spread before her with statues, 
and fountains, and great marble urns filled with 
plants. “ Pm afraid I shall die in the poor-house.” 

Pudney began to think she was making fun of 
him ; and rising heavily from his chair (he felt like 
an old man that morning) and trying to look dis- 
interested and unselfish, he said, extending his hand : 

“ Well, Sue, I wish you joy. I’ll hope for the best. 
But be sensible — hold on to your money. Tom would 
turn over in his grave to know another man had 
robbed you of what he’d worked so hard for.” She 
winced at that but said nothing. “I don’t know 
when I shall be over again. W T hen you get sick of 
the girls, turn ’em out to grass. Good day.” 

He went away very sad and heavy-hearted. 

“ I wouldn’t ’a’ thought it, at my age, I could have 
ben in love like this ! ” he mentally soliloquized. “ Oh, 
heigho hum ! I don’t know what in time to do with 
myself, I feel so down in the mouth! I don’t see 
how I could have loved that woman so! There 
hain’t a single thing about her to turn my head. 
Poor Lib was ten times the woman Sue is, and 
handsomer, too. Lib was taller ; and her mouth was 
smaller; and her teeth were prettier. And Lib had 
a prettier foot. She had a good deal higher instep. 
Lib could ’a’ worn a number two if she’d ben a mind 


234 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


to; and Sue can't hardly squeeze on a two and a 
half. As to common sense, I could set down any 
time and have a good talk with Lib; but I don't 
know when I ever had a good sensible, sober talk 
with Sue. If she'd had any sense she'd never taken 
up with a feller like that Wolferts. I was a fool to 
think about marryin' Sue. I wouldn't marry no 
woman without I loved her; and I know I was never 
such a blamed jackass as to love Sue. But she's a 
fool to let that feller Wolferts take her in; and 
she'll find it out in time. See how she went on about 
him! He's ben soft-soapin' her till she thinks he's 
next to Gabriel. — O Lord ! I don’t know what’s the 
matter with me to-day ! I feel all out o' sorts. I 
guess I shall have to go home and take a good dose 
of salts." 

He had several business engagements, but they 
dwindled into insignificance; and he only sent a 
message that “he was a little under the weather" 
and passed the remainder of the day at home, some- 
times sitting on the balcony looking moodily on the 
sea, sometimes wandering disconsolately around the 
lawn, his hands in his pockets, whistling “All the 
world is sad and dreary everywhere I roam." 

The next morning he rode over to Absequam 
again. He found Mrs. Walp sitting on the piazza 
in one of her most coquettish morning toilets, await- 
ing the appearance of a far different person and sur- 
prised enough at seeing him again so soon. 

“Sue," he began abruptly, “you're surprised to 
see me, I know; but I don't care! I'm just in that 
state of mind I don't care a red cent what anybody 
thinks! I've come over here to have a frank talk 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


235 


with you and tell you right straight up and down 
what I've got on my mind.” 

“ Oh, for heaven's sake don't, don't/' cried Mrs. 
alp springing to her feet in alarm, her color ris- 
ing. “ It won't be the least earthly use.” 

“Well, now, by George, I don't care a snap 
whether 'twill or not. I'm goin' to free my mind, 
anyhow ! I've ben thinkin' it over all night and I'm 
goin' to say it.” 

“O my goodness!” whined Mrs. Walp, “I wish 
you wouldn't! You don't know how disagreeable 
it will be ! ” 

“Well, I spose,” returned Pudney in somewhat 
discouraged tones, “you wunt take much interest in 
what I'm goin' to say. I can't blame ye for that. 
I know you must be pretty much wropped up in 
your own affairs just now; but for all that, I've 
made up my mind and I'm goin' to tell ye whether 
you take any interest in it or no. I've ben thinkin' 
it over all night; and it's this! ” He moved a little 
nearer and Mrs. Walp moved a little further off. 
He lowered his voice, leaned towards her, and blurted 
out, “ I've made up my mind to get married again. 
Sue.” 

Up sprang Mrs. Walp again. “How don't say 
anything more! I greatly prefer that you should 
not. I assure you it would be perfectly useless.” 

She had become very dignified. 

“ Well, now come, I'm goin' to finish, now I've 
begun,” stubbornly retorted Pudney. “I know you 
are too much wropped up in your own concerns to 
care about me just now; but long's I set out to 
tell you, I'm goin’ to finish/' he added doggedly. 


236 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


“What I was goin’ to say was, and I mean it — no 
jokin’ now! I’ve made up my mind to go to Europe 
and hunt me up a duchess ! ” 

“Oh!” cried Mrs. Walp in atone of relief; and 
then she broke into a fit of nervous laughter. 
“ What do you want to marry a duchess for ? ” she 
asked as soon as she could control herself. 

“Well,” repied Pudney musingly, “ I’ve ben thinkin’ 
over all the women folks I know; and I’m blamed if 
there’s one of ’em good enough to take Lib’s place — 
not one can hold a candle to her; and it’s a fact 
now, I’m goin’ to Europe soon’s I can get off ; and 
I’m goin’ to see what kind of a woman I can scare 
up. That’s what I came over to talk with you 
about. When do you and Wolferts calc’late to get 
married ? ” 

“ On the first of next month.” 

“ Do you calc’late to go to Europe ? ” 

“We do.” 

“ Well, then, by George, you’ve got to carry me 
along and show me the sights and help me scare up 
a duchess or a countess or something. I wunt marry 
no common kind of a woman after Libby. And I’m 
goin’ to shut up the house and take those two darned 
trollops along; and I’ll buy ’em a husband apiece if 
it takes the last cent I’ve got. I’m bound to get rid 
of ’em or bust.” 

“If you are serious,” replied Mrs. Walp, “I’m ex- 
pecting Mr. Wolferts and we will talk it over. I 
never had any idea though, that you would ever 
think of marrying a duchess. You used to be very 
hard on dukes and duchesses.” 

“Yes,” replied Pudney stroking his beard and 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


237 


looking thoughtful. “ Yes, that’s so. But I’ve out- 
grown that. I’m old’n I used to be. Seems as if I 
didn’t used to know anything, hardly. Seems as if 
I used to think dukes and duchesses wasn’t scarcely 
fit to live. I guess you know what made me change 
my opinion. I never felt the same about ’em sence 
I got that letter from Hurlborough.” He referred 
to a very courteous and manly letter written by the 
duke in reply to his own “ short and sweet ” epistle 
concerning his little misunderstanding with Emmie. 
“ That letter opened my eyes. I could see by that, 
that dukes have as much good common sense, and 
as much heart and soul as anybody else, and more’n 
a good many. It was thinkin’ that all over that 
made me make up my mind, all at once, last night, 
to marry a duchess; but 1 hain’t goin’ to marry no 
rich duchess. I’m goin’ to marry a poor woman, 
Sue,” he added, with great earnestness. “ Nobody 
shall ever say I married a woman for her money.” 

He lowered his voice to a whisper in the closing 
words; for, at that moment, he descried Wolferts 
riding up the avenue. 

Mrs. Walp saw him, too; and Pudney was aston- 
ished at the sudden change that came over her. 

Wolferts sprang easily from his horse and ran 
lightly up the steps; and Pudney thought to him- 
self, “ What a lumberin’ old elephant I am compared 
with him ! ” 

If it had been any one else than Wolferts he would 
have made Pudney feel himself in the way; but 
Wolferts seemed to have no secrets. He bowed with 
a beaming face and benevolent smiles towards his 
late rival and future brother-in-law, and bending over 


238 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


the lovety mistress of Absequam, took her hand — 
both hands, and seating* himself close at her side, 
slipped easily and gracefully into their conversation 
without any embarrassing display of the gallant, 
the spooney, or the self-conscious lover, and with 
no aping of foreign manners. He looked American 
all over; and that he looked sincere and earnest, and 
that his bearing commanded respect, was evident 
from the effect he produced on Pudney, the most 
diffident of men in such matters. But what engaged 
Pudney ’s attention the most was the change he ob- 
served in Mrs. Walp. Her countenance was fairly 
transfigured. He saw at once that he could never 
have made her so happy. 

“ I was a fool,” he said to himself as he rode away, 
“ to think of marryin’ Sue. I can’t think what put 
it into my head,” and he cogitated the matter some 
minutes. Like a great river flowing onward and 
onward, ever receiving new acquisitions and new 
impulses onward, his love had flowed so far from its 
source, it was not easy to find it. “ I guess I must 
have ben out of my head. I never could have made 
her so happy as that. But I wouldn’t marry a rich 
woman anyhow. Wolferts never will get the credit 
of carin’ anything for Sue but her money; but I 
know he does. He’s heels over head in love with 
her. He’s a good clever fellow and Pm glad Sue’s 
done so well. He hain’t rich, but he must have 
made quite a little pile out of his poultry business. 
I declare I never saw Sue lookin’ so handsome as 
she did to-day! I feel better to-day than I did yes- 
terday. Pm glad I took that dose of salts last 
night.” 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


239 


He rode blithely home, found the girls who had 
returned that morning, and told them if they 
thought they could behave themselves (he could 
never have been so facetious with them if he had 
not been so happy) he would “ carry ” them with 
him to Europe. He then promptly made all his 
preparations for the journey; and the early part of 
the following month found him on the deck of an 
ocean steamship, his heart full of big hopes, his face 
radiant with satisfaction, going out into the world, 
at the age of forty -seven, in quest of a wife ! 


240 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

HUNTING TITLES. 

Pudney returned from Europe as eagerly as he 
went away, as glad to get back as he was to be off, 
with as much on his mind as when he departed, 
with the same hopes in his heart, the same quest on 
his hands. But he had decided not to marry a 
duchess. He had changed his opinion again. 

“ Give me an American woman for a wife and an 
American for my neighbor! Pve done Europe. Pll 
stick to the United States for the balance of my life! 
I don’t say but what there are some stunnin’ things 
to see over there, some I never dreamt of ; but the 
women can’t hold a candle to ours. There are more 
handsome girls in the State of Maine than in the 
whole of Europe; and w T hen it comes to sense, 
pshaw ! there’s more sense in the Maine State Idiot 
Asylum than I saw amongst those foreign critters.” 

Pudney’s failure to find a duchess adapted, in his 
opinion, to American soil, had not, in the least, em- 
bittered his mind against the world ; and so far as 
his own matrimonial prospects were concerned, he 
was the same cheery, hopeful, expectant mortal that 
he was when he left his native land; but he was 
certainty in a very bad humor at being compelled to 
fetch back his daughter Laura. After spending no 
end of money to find her a husband, she was still on 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


241 


his hands and damaged at that. The other one, 
Harriet, he had disposed of and left behind. “ Thank 
God for that ! " was his inward congratulation every 
time he thought of it. But it was a puzzle to him 
how it was that one of them had been taken and 
the other had been left. 

“ They are six of one and half a dozen of t'other. 
As much alike as two peas in a pod. It's curious, 
curious." 

But the two girls were really very different in 
many respects. While the younger coolly and crit- 
ically looked over the goods in the matrimonial mar- 
ket, the elder plunged wildly into the fiercest flirta- 
tions. The result was, Harriet had reached the 
goal of her ambition — had become the mistress of a 
fine old feudal castle and the Princess di Comazzi. 
The prince himself was a bald-headed, black-eyed 
young man, not much above thirty, not bad looking, 
for whom her father had paid a good round sum. 
Pudney himself saw nothing in the fellow to entitle 
him to rank above his fellow-men and he rather won- 
dered why Hat wanted to marry him. “ But if she's 
suited," he said, “ I am." 

As to why the prince wanted to marry Hat, that, 
to his mind, was still harder to understand; and he 
w T as not sorry when he found the young man anx- 
ious for an early marriage. He might have time 
to repent if he waited. 

So the nuptials were rushed through with mutual 
satisfaction. Pudney, however, gave the bride away 
with a sneaking feeling that he was cheating the 
fellow. 

“ By George ! " he thought, “ that's the first swin- 
16 


242 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


dlin’ parcel of goods I ever delivered; but I can’t 
help it. His eyes are his market. I wasn’t goin’ 
to cry stinkin’ fish.” 

The prince, however, was better pleased with the 
goods than with the price he had obtained for his 
title. 

“ I hain’t marryin’ no daughter of mine, let her be 
what she will, to no Eyetalian prince and leave 
things so he’ll make anything by poisonin’ her,” was 
Pudney’s commentary to Wolferts who conducted 
the negotiations. 

So the prince got only enough spot cash to pay 
his debts and redeem his mother’s diamonds; the 
rest of the money was put in trust, the income being 
payable to the princess during her life for their joint 
support ; and at her death but one-half of said in- 
come went to the prince, the other half, and, at the 
death of both, the whole, to go to her children; and 
if she left no children, one-half of the principal at 
her death, and, on the death of the prince, the re- 
maining half, reverted to her family in America. 

Hence the prince was obliged to go to his wife for 
his pocket money — ignominious terms whose accept- 
ance at least his creditors and agents could have 
explained, for his coronet had been on the market 
for some years and he had not found its value in- 
creased by hawking it around. But looking with 
his piercing, black, Italian eyes down into the vel- 
vety depths of the fair American’s blue orbs, he 
laughed in his heart to see how futile were the old 
man’s precautions. 

He fancied her a wife he could rule! 

Alas! for human perceptions! Alas! for the finite 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


243 


mind! Pudney himself would have smiled. “The 
stubborn, self-willed little jade!” he had called her 
since the day she cut her first tooth. He could con- 
quer sometimes in a tussle with Laura, but he 
dreaded coming* into collision with Hat. The prince 
had heard that American women made obedient 
wives, very tractable, very pliable, very sweet, and 
confiding. But America is a broad land ; and little 
the prince recked of what he was getting in taking 
to wife that artless damsel from Maine! Little did 
he reck what indomitable will, what unconquerable 
resolution, what fertility of resource, what ingenu- 
ity of expedient, and above all, making all else gall 
and wormwood, what avarice, and acquisitiveness, 
what passionate cupidity, what grudging parsimony, 
he was getting in that beautiful, that innocent, that 
harmless looking little package from Maine ! Never 
was sharp, shrewd Yankee more resolute and per- 
severing in securing the worth of his money — and 
good worth, sensible worth, than this fair daughter 
of Pudne}^! 

When she heard how much precious wealth they 
must part with in settling “ debts of honor,” she 
cried in her heart: “ You’ll squander no more, my 
little dear! There’ll be no more debts of honor! I 
won’t starve you, my prince. We will be lavish 
enough for tangible things; but no gambling or 
betting at the races ! ” 

So the prince went blindly on to his fate, all igno- 
rant, astute Italian though he was, what galling 
servitude he entered in wedding that beautiful, mi- 
serly little Tartar from Maine ! 

Meanwhile, Laura, the elder girl, no less ambitious 


PUDNEY Sc WALP. 


244 

of wearing a coronet, no less passionately desirous 
of throwing off the yoke of parental despotism, was 
seeking distinction by showing the world how many 
husbands she might have if the laws of the various 
lands she visited permitted a plurality. She had a 
whole cohort of noble lovers at her feet — Dutch 
barons, German princes, Russian counts, French 
marquises, and a fine representation of England’s 
famishing "younger sons.” 

She was a more brilliant and fascinating girl than 
her sister, and though neither of them had any 
amiability to boast of, she had the appearance in 
company of being a most lovable, though a very 
spirited young lady. Her vvonderful blonde beauty 
was everywhere talked of. Her admirers were 
legion ; and not a trace of coquetry, not a trium- 
phant gleam in her eye, gave the least token or 
warning of the triumph she felt in her heart as she 
beheld the success of her charms. Men of the world, 
skilled artists in female wiles, failed to divine her 
true nature, and concluded, whether she was ambi- 
tious or not, she would give her hand only where 
her heart went; so they trooped after her, pining 
for her father’s millions, trying to study her whims, 
and caprices, and the secret springs of her heart, 
and labored almost as hard for a share of Pudney’s 
money as he had himself. 

Alone with any one of them, her color deepened, 
her eyes glittered, her voice grew mellow and musi- 
cal, her lips trembled with tenderness, and her gay 
and witty speech melted into sighs and sentimental 
musings; and the deluded wooer, believing the long- 
sought prize was within his reach, made the fatal 


HJDNEY & WALP. 


245 


plunge to grasp it, and found lie grasped the empty 
air; and while he stood panting, gasping, amazed 
out of agony and disappointment, the prize was just 
beyond, just as tempting, just as alluring, just as 
promising. 

None of Laura’s lovers ever gave up the pursuit. 
She never said no and she never said yes. They 
were always just as full of hope after tumbling 
heels over head into the hidden abyss that lay be- 
tween pursuer and pursued as when they started 
out on the chase. She never seemed far off. In 
fact, never did she seem so near, so entirely within 
grasp, as when they had just missed her; and so 
they were up, full of stronger hopes yet, more ardent 
than before, and started anew. 

She was brought to bay at last by the very one 
who possessed, in the beginning, the least prospects 
of success — all things considered. This was a French 
nobleman, the Marquis Belitre. The marquis was 
an indefinite number of years above fifty. He was 
long time a father, yea, a grandfather. His per- 
sonal beauty, which was said to have been great in 
his youth, was no longer irresistible. His hair was 
thin ; there was a large bald spot on the crown; 
and the small remainder had, for some years, been 
almost snowy white, but of late had been restored 
to its original hue by his judicious valet. His eyes 
were shrunken and watery; his face and neck were 
crossed by numerous deep lines and wrinkles which 
no art could conceal; and his complexion was bibu- 
lous and ghastly. Moreover, rumor declared that 
he was by no means entitled by law to marry any 
more women, that, in fact, he had a wife or two 


246 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


already — one, to a certainty, that from one he had 
secured a divorce whose legality she was even then 
contesting, and that the second was his wife if the 
first was not. 

Furthermore, he was utterly, disgracefully indi- 
gent. For years the very man who brushed his 
coat had been paid only with promises; and he was 
living, this nobleman, at that very time, off the 
money extorted by former mistresses from the 
gilded youth of Paris, to each several one of whom 
(the mistresses aforesaid) all unknown to one 
another, he had pledged one-half of the fortune he 
expected with the new wife he was seeking — though 
in truth, he was untroubled by a thought of re- 
turning a penny. 

Such was the Marquis Belitre, the high-born 
scalawag that came to Pudney for his eldest daugh- 
ter. Two millions he wanted — he had debts to pay 
and his two wives to buy off; moreover his rank 
was very high and therefore quite worth it; and 
Laura, to the amazement of her father and the con- 
sternation of her aunt, endorsed his petition ! 

But Pudney’s reply was: "Show me something 
cheaper. I hain’t buyin* other women’s husbands 
for you at that figger.” 

At this answer the marquis was furious; and 
Laura herself was visibly agitated. She shut her- 
self up in her room and not a word passed her lips 
on the subject. She shed no tears, but she was 
very thoughtful, sat by the window looking out but 
seeing nothing and walked the floor of her room 
and seemed to be greatly troubled in her mind. 

Meantime the marquis was busy. 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


247 


The next morning’ the scurrility of the Paris news- 
paper press was poured out on the rich American 
and his ambitious daughter. The young lady was 
covered with ridicule; the old man was heaped with 
derision. They had thought to buy a marquisate 
cheap for cash, had offered a price, and had been 
indignantly, scornfully rejected. The young lady 
had been so sure of her game she had ordered her 
trousseau — even her linen had been elaborately 
and flashily marked with the coveted coat of arms. 
But the engagement was severed and was not likely 
to be renewed unless the penurious American was 
made to understand what was due to the high rank 
of the marquis. The young lady, so the tale ran, 
was distracted. She was really in love, and no 
wonder! And then followed laudations on the mar- 
quis. He was a perfect Apollo, gifted, accomplished, 
one of the most polished gentlemen and one of the 
finest scholars in Europe; a patriot, too, and a 
hero. He had done noble service in the army, had 
been wounded and performed deeds of great valor. 
And then it was intimated, just darkly hinted, that 
the marquis did have a few little faults, just the 
peccadillos we all look for, and forgive in men of 
great personal beauty and charms of manner and 
conversation; that, in short, where the ladies were 
concerned, it were as well were he a little more 
saintly. To put it plainly, the naughty marquis 
was said to be very successful in seducing women, 
but it was thought he had been serious and hon- 
orable in his attentions to the young American 
lady. 

Such were the stories that went over the world 


248 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


that next morning* after Pudney refused to deal 
with the marquis. 

It was the scheme of the chimney-sweep who 
went into a pie-shop for a pie and secured it at his 
own price after fingering it with his sooty hands. 

The first of the young lady’s family to read the 
story were Wolferts and Sue. Then they trans- 
lated the tale to her father. 

“ What ! ” cried Pudney, “ did Laura order any 
trousseau without asking* me ? ” 

Printers’ ink had a wonderful influence on Pud- 
ney. It was hard to convince him that no trousseau 
had been ordered, no coat of arms marked on linen. 

But what was to be done ? The stories were 
circulated everywhere; every newspaper in Europe 
reprinted them; they crossed the Atlantic, and, 
strengthened by their sea voyage, came out big and 
robust in all the papers in America. Laura’s pic- 
ture and that of the marquis were published till 
their faces were as well known as that of the presi- 
dent; and the affair was the talk of every club in 
the country. 

Pudney himself took the matter rather dully. It 
was a lie and that was all there was of it. Let it 
go. But Mrs. Wolferts was frantic about it. 

“We shall be ruined ! ” she cried. “ My own posi- 
tion will be affected,” and she told Laura to her face 
that she would chaperon her no longer unless she 
mended her ways. 

“ If you were not my own niece I would drop you 
this day. You knew the man had a dozen wives 
and mistresses all over Europe.” 

Laura, eager to escape the reproaches of her aunt. 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


249 


sought to place herself in the hands of some other 
great lady ; and to one and another of her country- 
women she went. Her aunt, she said, would soon 
return to America. But oh dear! how she wanted 
to remain ! 

Her wishes were anticipated ere she spoke them, 
her hints understood. One lady replied, “ You 
might stay with me, dear, hut my health is not 
good and I shall go little in society this winter.” 
Another discovered that she might return home 
any day; and so for one reason or another, they all 
squirmed out of it. And that was not all. Her 
lovers deserted her. 

So far, then, the marquis succeeded. He stood 
ready, however, to make all due reparation; and so 
he magnanimously acquainted her father by the 
earliest post. 

Pudnejr tossed the noble lord’s letter away with 
only a “ Humph ! ” and that was the only answer it 
ever received — his failure to reply, in one way or 
the other, being the most convincing proof to the 
marquis of the low-born, plebeian character of the 
man; for the marquis thought — pauper, scoundrel, 
loafer, pimp, that he was— he still thought he should 
be treated as a gentleman ! 

Presently it was found, in spite of all efforts at 
secrecy on both sides, that notes were passing be- 
tween the marquis and his victim. 

Then Wolferts and Sue went to whispering. 

What shall be done ? What does it mean ? What 
is the secret of this old beau’s power over her whom 
others younger, handsomer, and quite as high-born, 

were unable to conquer f 
i7 


250 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


“ It is shocking! ” moaned her aunt. “Not only 
will she be lost to the world herself, hut she will 
drag 1 us all down ! I fear no man will be serious in 
his attentions to her after this.” 

There was but one thing to do. It was a sacri- 
fice; but they heroically resolved upon it. They 
must put the Atlantic between Laura and the mar- 
quis! 

Pudney was mercifully left out of the council. 
They announced only the result. They had decided 
to return forthwith to America. 

“ Pm glad of it! ” he cried. “ Pve seen all I want 
to, and a darn sight more ! But — I guess we’d bet- 
ter leave Laura with Hat, don’t you think so ? ” 

“ Well, hardly! ” screamed Mrs. Wolferts out of 
all patience with his dullness. “ There is no one to 
chaperon her after all these scandals; and she will 
never consent to be chaperoned by a younger sister. 
Few girls would.” 

“ No, I can’t blame Laura for that; but it’s a great 
idea a girl ’most twenty-four can’t look out for her- 
self.” 

Mrs. Wolferts considered the discussion of high 
social ethics with Pudney a prodigal waste of breath. 

“ Laura herself would be the first to decline stay- 
ing without a proper chaperon,” she replied briefly. 

Laura received the announcement of the intended 
return home with utter indifference. 

Her aunt pondered. “ Can it be they have planned 
an elopement ? The marquis is utterly penniless. 
Can it be she thinks her father would relent ? ” 

But there was no elopement on the programme. 
The time had passed when Laura thought she must, 


PUDNEY & WALP. 251 

of necessity, marry the marquis. That idea she now 
laughed to scorn. 

She was herself once more. 

The marquis had played his cards with marvelous 
ingenuity and skill and given himself a vast deal of 
pains; but he had lost. His first letters she had 
grasped with desperate eagerness. She had torn 
them open and run her eye with passionate avidity 
over each one of their French pages for a familiar 
word; and, shut up in her room with her dictionary 
(for though the marquis spoke English he would 
not venture on writing it), she laboriously and anx- 
iously delved into their meaning. His long pas- 
sionate sentences of love and devotion, puzzled out 
through her lexicon, digusted her. Her industry 
was fruitless. She was after the practical — what 
was to be done, if need were— what he proposed and 
suggested. 

But that was all over. Time, and reflection, and 
some other considerations, had changed her. She 
now destroyed his letters unread; and when she 
thought of the marquis, it was with hatred, indig- 
nation, and a passionate desire for revenge. She 
thought of his wrinkles, his bald head, his dyed hair, 
his false teeth, his watery eyes, his two wives, his 
several grandchildren; she thought of his inglorious 
life, his ignominious poverty; and more than all 
else, she thought of his despicable, premeditated, 
mercenary, cold-blooded erotics. She thought how 
he had labored to work on her mind — how he sought 
to fill her with fears by professions of torturing 
anxiety, by professions of seeking her hand to make 
“ manly reparation ” both of the harm of which he 


252 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


confessed himself guilty and of that done by others 
—the “ others” being the “ villainous newspapers” 
whose attacks she was now satisfied he had inspired. 

It was a dastardly game he had played, but he 
had lost, and she was wiser. She was not broken- 
hearted; she was not crushed in spirit — not in the 
least humbled. She was angry ; she was aching for 
revenge; she could sympathize with the vitriol- 
thrower. It was a beautiful revenge. She thought 
about it — the old villain with his eyes put out, his 
old beau’s face forever disfigured, hideous, purple 
and red, and frightfully distorted ! And then how 
she could taunt him with his hideousness and blind- 
ness! But there was herself to think of. She 
would never destroy herself; so, filled with heart- 
aches, regrets, and bitter disappointments, and 
consumed with desire for revenge, the elder of the 
two Miss Pudneys returned to America defeated; 
and the marquis, filled with the rancor of impotent 
rage, laughed with scorn when he found she was 
lost to him and then turned his eyes on another. 

Years after, this man, called a nobleman, utterly 
indigent, living alone without even a servant, with 
no joys but recalling old spites and revenges, and 
gloating over this one and that one he had injured 
(for he had failed in all else but in working destruc- 
tion), filled up his hours thinking over and nursing 
fancied wrongs, cursing his luck for the good he had 
missed, and seeking consolation in contemplating 
the mischief he had wrought ; and he would sit and 
cackle in a feeble cracked voice, “Ha! ha! there’s 
one life I spoilt! If I am not happy, thank God, 
there are others who are wretched! ” and he eked 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


253 


out a miserable existence levjung blackmail on ladies 
of rank, now past their prime. “ Would }mu kindly 
lend me twenty francs for the sake of old recollec- 
tions ? ” he would write to the one and the other. 
“ I will shortly repay you. I know fond memories 
will prompt this kindness to .your old love,” and then 
he would scrawl at the bottom with his old shriv- 
eled hand, shaking with palsy and age, “ I think 
always and only of thee.” 


254 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

PUDNEY TRIES TO FALL IN LOVE. 

Pudney now went everywhere he was invited and 
became rather conspicuous for wanting introduc- 
tions to ladies; he began going regularly to church 
and while the good man in the pulpit was preach- 
ing, he was stealthily looking into all the women’s 
bonnets; then he took to riding around horseback 
like Hon Quixote in search of adventures. He fre- 
quented the summer hotels, visited everywhere; and 
yet the second year of his widowerhood had well- 
nigh ended, and people wondered why Pudney did 
not marry; and he was beginning to be moody 
and despondent. 

And all the time, what was the matter with Pud- 
ney? What was the real reason he had not found 
the woman he sought ? His ideal, certainly, if he 
had any, was reasonable; and women were still 
plentiful. He was not looking for a girl in her first, 
youth; he was not looking for wonderful beauty, 
nor for extraordinary intellect, nor yet for any defi- 
nite set of opinions and beliefs. All he wanted was 
simply to fall in love; and he was certain he would 
fall in love if he could only find the right woman. 
Yet he had passed that same woman on the road of 
life since he had started on this search, and had 
passed on without knowing her — had passed on out 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


255 


of sight and had not felt a ripple, not a quiver of 
love in his soul — and he thought it would strike him 
like a flash of lightning as the Methodist people 
“ experience religion.” That was the way he fell in 
love the first time. He thought in love, if in noth- 
ing else, he could be a boy again. He wanted his 
head turned — wanted to feel that he would “ rush 
into matrimony ” if he were down to his last cent. 

He was a very modest man among women, diffi- 
dent, even; and if they were “forred,” as he called 
it, seeking to draw him out, he felt that they were 
encroaching on the masculine prerogative and they 
displeased him ; but if they, like himself, were diffi- 
dent and retiring, they kept a Quaker meeting be- 
tween them and made no headway towards falling 
in love — his one great object in life — the one thing 
he lived for. 

One day he went out in the harbor for a sail with 
a party of friends,. The boat was capsized; and a 
lady to whom he had been only that day introduced, 
caught him by the hair of his head, nearly drowning 
him; but he contrived to save her; and that woman 
worshiped him ever after; and she was exactly 
the woman he was seeking; but he never discov- 
ered it. He only called the next day and inquired 
how she was feeling and said, “ he hoped she didn’t 
catch cold,” and apologized for the rough way he 
handled her. 

"I expect I ’most choked you,” he said. “You 
see ’tain’t handy swimmin’ in such a lot of clothes.” 

He left her; and the poor thing peeped after him 
through the blinds and thought he was handsome 
and grand looking, and that he was the noblest work 


256 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


of God, and wished Heaven had made her such a 
man; and Pudney, all unconscious, kept on going' 
away, and never guessed it, never suspected it! 

On another occasion — for aquatic adventures in 
this island town were the most common that befell 
this Don Quixote — riding his Rozinante along the 
shore, looking, as usual, for his future wife, he came 
upon a little group of women and children in bath- 
ing attire in the edge of the water. The sea was 
rough; and their bathing consisted in large part of 
screaming and laughing and running for the shore 
as the waves rolled up. As he reached them, one 
lady was knocked down and washed out in the un- 
dertow; the others scrambled up the rocks shriek- 
ing for help, so off leaped Don Quixote from his 
steed, plunged into the surf and rescued another fair 
lady. 

She was blue and gasping when he brought her 
ashore; but she managed to say: 

“ Thank you ! ” 

“ You are quite welcome, ma’am/’ replied Pudney. 

“ Too bad 3 T ou got wet ! ” gasped the lady. 

“ Don’t mention it, ma’am,” returned Pudney po- 
litely. “ I’d ben a hog to think of anything like 
that ! ” 

And that woman looked up, looked into his face 
fell in love, and thought, like the other, that he 
was handsome, an angel, divine, straight from 
Heaven ; and Pudney got back into his saddle and 
rode off, once again unaware of the good wife he 
had missed, rode off lonely, alone, and still searching. 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


257 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

WHAT THE NIGHT WATCH HAPPENED TO SEE AT 
ABSEQUAM. 

Prior to her last visit abroad. Miss Pudney had 
devoted the energies and powers of her mind princi- 
pally to humbling servants and poor people, trying 
to keep them in their places, and snubbing people 
she esteemed her inferiors. 

The high marriage of her two younger sisters, 
leaving her in solitude at home, had not, by any 
means, improved her temper; but while she was not 
less arrogant and exacting, she now gave attention 
to other matters than the devising of plots and 
schemes looking to the humiliation of those who 
remembered her when she washed her mother’s 
dishes and was delighted with the gift of an old 
dress. 

She had other absorptions. The morbid love of 
exerting the influence of her charms upon men 
which she had so fatally developed abroad, seemed 
to rage with even greater fury since her return 
and had assumed its most pernicious phase — a 
fierce craving for attention elsewhere bestowed, a 
passionate longing for the admiration belonging to 
others. The first evidence of existing affinity be- 
tween any man and another woman filled her with 
disgust, with anger, with a sense of injustice to 


258 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


herself, with the bitterest jealousy; and she found 
no peace till she had obtained what she felt to he 
her right — eyes glittering with amorous light look- 
ing into her own. In short, she had developed into 
a sexual maniac, cruelly intolerant of the loves of 
others, and passing her whole existence in a state 
of amative unrest and discontent. 

The summer season brought strangers from the 
large cities to the island. Winthrop Harbor had 
become a fashionable resort. Absequam was full 
of guests and Laura was there. Among those 
whom Mrs. Wolferts was entertaining was Howard 
Chatwold, a young man about twenty-seven years 
of age, belonging to a well-known wealthy family 
of Baltimore. He was scarcely a year married and 
was accompanied by his wife, a beautiful and ac- 
complished woman — perhaps less wonderfully beau- 
tiful than Laura Pudney, but far more accomplished 
and gifted. 

Chatwold and his wife were devoted lovers. How 
flat, stale, and unprofitable would the society of 
such a young man have been to a young woman of 
healthy appetites, normal instincts, and unperverted 
tastes ! But Laura fell madly in love with him — 
if it can be called love — if that fierce, cruel, wild, 
agonizing longing burning in her soul is deserving 
the appellation. But whatever it was, she went to 
her room that night, threw herself into a chair, and 
clasped her hands in a vise-like clutch that drove 
the blood to her finger-ends; and she sat there in 
solitude with her heart throbbing in anguish, recall- 
ing that young man’s pale, intellectual, handsome 
face ; and it maddened her to think how impassively 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


259 


his great, serious, black eyes had rested upon her 
own imperial beauty without seeming even to see 
it, much less to admire or feel its power; but more 
than all, she felt aggrieved, wronged to the soul, to 
see how the grave, cold lines were swept away, how 
the reserved, distant look departed, when his gaze 
turned on his beautiful young wife. 

Call it love or what you will, she suffered tortures 
that night. Sleep long refused to put an end to 
her wretchedness. She rose from her bed, bathed 
her eyes, and looked inquiringly into her mirror. 
How beautiful she was ! Howard Chatwold should 
see it, should feel it ! 

It was a long, hard battle, stubbornly contested, 
and only the birds and squirrels in Absequam Wood 
could tell the whole sad tale — of the young man, 
grave by nature, given to serious pursuits, lofty in 
his aspirations, noble in all his instincts and im- 
pulses, loyal and devoted to a worthy and lovable 
young wife, overthrown in a contest with this 
Satanic, morbid growth of womanhood ! 

There were walks by the fountains under the 
trees, long walks, frequent walks, and her aunt 
said, “ You are too much with this man. It must 
stop.” So the time came when they met seemingly 
by accident and returned to the house by different 
paths through the woods; and others who met 
them felt embarrassed, and people who passed them 
looked inquiringly into one another's eyes and said 
nothing. 

Perhaps at last Laura really loved. At all 
events, this was the first time she had ever shed 
tears, the first time her heart ached at thoughts of 


260 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


certain separation, the first time the admiration of 
others palled on her, the first time this was her one 
lover. 

And once more Wolferts and his wife went to 
whispering-. 

“ What shall we do ? ” cried the aunt in distrac- 
tion. 

Meanwhile, Laura’s life was filled up with days 
of painfully pleasurable excitement, and nights of 
unrest and bitter dissatisfaction. Then she sud- 
denly and capriciously went home. 

“Thank heaven, she’s gone !” cried her aunt; but 
why, wherefore, and whether she meant to return, 
was a mystery. However, it looked bad for the 
peace of those most concerned, for she had left all 
her trunks. 

Once home at Seaview and virtually her own 
mistress Laura hurries to Boston, then home, and 
then back to Absequam. 

She came back looking pale, very calm, very 
resolute, perfectly successful, and more cheerful 
than usual; and she seemed very high-minded. 

What course she should take was decided. 

That night, Howard Chatwold, with Wolferts 
and some others, attended a stag party at Bar 
Harbor. There was no moon; but the stars shone 
clear and bright. About one o’clock, Ambrose 
Tarpey, one of Absequam’s private watchmen, 
stood looking absent-mindedly towards the vast 
monumental structure called “ the castle,” thinking 
over some family troubles of his own, when he 
observed, in a dull sort of surprise, a faint light on 
the balcony. It was as faint and as small as the 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


261 


light of a distant star; it was scarcely more than a 
glimmering red point; but it moved. It might be 
a glow-worm but for the steadiness of the gleam. 
He watched it. It went steadily, slowly from one 
end of the balcony to the other and disappeared 
within an open window. 

He looked up at the stars. “ One o'clock.” He 
thought it was singular; and he stood still watching 
the house. He took a few turns under the trees 
but kept looking towards the house till he nearly 
forgot it. A half-hour had passed, perhaps more, 
then the light came again through the window. 
He hurried nearer and watched it till he saw the 
light was a taper, and the figure was that of a 
woman who entered a window at the far end of the 
balcony — and so it was no matter; it was nothing. 
He went back to his post and forgot it. 

Morning broke and the party returned from Bar 
Harbor. 

Chatwold entered his room and found it in extra- 
ordinary confusion — the drawers, wardrobes, and 
cabinets ransacked, the contents strewn over the 
floor in every direction, and his wife on the bed, still 
and pulseless, her lips blue, and a sponge over her 
face smelling of chloroform. 

He aroused the house. Physicians were sum- 
moned; and then next, the coroner and the police 
authorities. But meanwhile, the house had been 
searched for the burglar or further evidences of his 
depredations; and the strange fact was developed 
that he had passed by every room but Chat wold's 
and Miss Pudney's, each at the extreme ends of the 
wing; and Laura, like the other, was lying uncon- 


262 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


scious on her bed with a sponge on her face very 
wet with the same deadly drug found by Chatwold ; 
and in plain sight on the floor, where the burglar, 
in his flight, must have dropped it, was a package 
containing the monej^ and jewels of his victims. 

So far the two had suffered alike; hut the differ- 
ence was this: in a few moments, Laura recovered, 
spoke, lived and breathed, and was fully restored 
to her health; hut the beautiful young wife of Chat- 
wold was dead; and later on, every article of value 
belonging toMissPudney was found in the package; 
but a number of valuables belonging to the Chat- 
wolds the burglar had, oddly enough, overlooked. 

To increase the strange appearance of things, the 
doctors declared that Mrs. Chatwold had been dead 
between three and four hours (they saw the body 
at five); and a bright red spot on her upper lip and 
about her nostrils, revealed a persistent and con- 
tinuous application of the chloroformed sponge; but 
no burnt patches marred the beauty of Miss Pudney. 

Altogether it was a very peculiar affair; and the 
inmates of Absequam Castle were in all sorts of 
minds. 

Wolferts and his wife were in consternation and 
hurriedly whispering. The guests looked blue and 
embarrassed. Some were assiduously trying to 
look high-toned, unsuspicious, and decorously sym- 
pathetic; and a few were high-toned indeed, were 
utterly without a suspicion, and sincerely condoled 
with Chatwold, congratulated Laura on her mirac- 
ulous preservation, and fervently thanked God for 
the escape of the rest. 

Meanwhile, the police had found Tarpey; and 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


263 


before darkness again rested on Absequam, its pale 
mistress had acquainted her niece with the fact 
that should she desire to go away anywhere, or take 
the fresh air, she would be so good as to ask the 
consent of the chief. 

There was an officer outside her door. 

Miss Pudney elevated her chin in the air, met her 
aunt's gaze serenely, and superbly replied : 

“ This comes of living in a world filled with low 
people," and she sank daintily into the luxurious 
depths of an arm-chair, placed her feet gracefully on 
a foot-stool, and passed the evening reading a novel. 

Pudney was out on his yacht; but he heard the 
story next morning. 

. "Well, if she done it!" he cried vehemently, 
" hangings too good for her ! " 

" But she is your own flesh and blood ! " cried Mrs. 
Wolferts passionately. "Great heavens! how 
could I stand it to have Laura go to State prison ! 
O my God, the disgrace of it, the agony of it, would 
kill me ! For her poor mother's sake, you ought 
to stand by her ! " 

"Look a-here. Sue, don't you know me yet?" 
cried Pudney excitedly. "If I believed Laura mur- 
dered that woman in her sleep, do you think I'd lift 
a finger to save her ? No ! by God ! I'd only be 
sorry hangin's abolished. She might swing for all 
o' me. But did I say she was guilty ? She hain't 
no saint — I've had a peck o' trouble with her, first 
and last; but I'll give the devil his due — I don't 
believe she done it ! I don't believe she'd have the 
heart to do it. Ugh ! it makes me shudder to 
think of it ! " 


264 


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“Of course she never did it!” cried Mrs. Wol- 
ferts through her tears. 

“It’s perfectly preposterous !” echoed Wolferts. 

“And whatever the evidence,” sobbed the wife^ 
“I shall stand by Laura. And so ought you. If 
you won’t do it for her sake, or for the sake of your 
other children, think of poor — poor — Libby ! ” and 
she burst into tears. 

“Sue,” replied Pudney in agitated tones, “all I 
got to say is this, nothing they say will ever make 
me believe any child o’ mine ever committed a 
murder — such a cold-blooded, heartless murder as 
that ! It makes my blood run cold. I don’t expect 
even that burglar done it a purpose. I always give 
the devil his due; and I know Laura never done it;* 
I don’t care what they say. Where is she ? I spose 
I ought to go and see her. But I expect she h ain’t 
in a very pleasant frame o’ mind. I guess ’twouldn’t 
do no good for me to see her. You tell her from 
me to keep a stiff upper lip. Tell her I’ll buy her 
something handsome next time I go to Boston; and 
you tell her I’ll stand up for her, let ’em say what 
they please. I s’pose it’ll be all over to-morrow 
wunt it ? ” 

He scanned their faces anxiously. 

“ After the coroner’s inquest — it is to be hoped 
so,” returned Wolferts rather evasively, “but we 
must not be too confident.” 

“ Well, I should say after all I’ve done for this 
town,” cried Pudney firing up, “ it’s a darn smart 
piece of business jumpin’ on any of my family ! I’d 
like to know who’s at the bottom of this thing any 
way ! ” 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


265 


He went home feeling very much aggrieved by 
some unknown enemy, public or private; and Wol- 
ferts and Sue looked gratefully into one another’s 
eyes. 

“So far so good,” murmured Wolferts. 

“Yes,” moaned his wife, “if he doesn’t veer 
around to-morrow when he hears the evidence. 
What a dreadful thing if her own father should 
turn against her ! ” 

1 8 


266 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

RICH PEOPLE IN JAIL. 

The inquest took place next morning*. Pudney 
staid away in a huff. About noon Wolferts came 
to report the result. 

“Well, Pudney/' he cried gayly, “Pm after you ! 
I’m going to take you to jail, old fellow ! ” 

“ What ! you don’t mean ” cried Pudney turn- 

ing pale. 

“Yes, I do!” returned Wolferts. “Whoever it 
is,” he added with well-affected indignation, “that’s 
doing the wire-pulling in this business is having 
tip-top success, so far.” 

“That jail that I built !” cried Pudney. “And I 
furnished that stone at bottom figgers ! This is 
hard ! After all I’ve done for this town ! ” His 
voice trembled. “I’d like to know who’s at the 
bottom of this ! I blame Mackintosh; and I’ve 
ben a good friend of his. Yes, and now come to 
think of it, Laura gave Yesty Dodd a bracelet I 
paid a thousand or twelve hundred dollars for right 
before my eyes ! I’m gettin’ sick of this world ! I 
feel just like cuttin’ my throat, I swear I do ! 
Where’s Sue ? ” 

“ I left Sue with Laura. She is going to stay 
there till I call for her; and I promised to bring 
you.” 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


267 


"No, no, not there ! I can’t stand that, Wol- 
ferts.” 

"Yes,” returned Wolferts persuasively. "For 
the sake of appearances. It would go terribly 
against her to have it look as if her own father 
condemned her. We must all stand by her. I have 
telegraphed Hurlborougli and Emmie; and Sue has 
written to Hattie.” 

"Well, I’ll go,” cried Pudney, heroically, "though 
I don’t hardly know how I can look anybody in the 
face, goin’ to visit my daughter in jail and I don’t 
know how I can look Laura in the face. Less not 
talk about the murder to her. I shan’t mention it.” 

Arrived at the handsome granite building which 
he had hitherto surveyed only with pride and self- 
gratulation and had so many times pointed out to 
strangers as a product of his own, he found the in- 
domitable spirit of poor Sue everywhere manifest. 
At the entrance of the domain over which she pre- 
sided, hung a handsome portiere. A costly Turkish 
rug covered the stone floor; a silken coverlid con- 
cealed the humility of the little cot; three luxurious 
chairs nearly filled the limited space remaining; a 
beautiful table stood at the end opposite the 
entrance; and upon it, a handsome bouquet filled the 
cell with its delightful perfume. 

Miss Pudney sat listlessly near the table and she 
looked quite as haughty and arrogant as in her 
father’s own mansion. Mrs. Wolferts was with her; 
and as for her looks — she looked angry, indignant, 
dissatisfied, and extreme^ worried and anxious 
about something. Poor woman, she had not the 
faintest idea she was reaping the harvest she had 


268 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


sowed. She knew she had never counseled evil 
deeds like this. She had forgotten her part in 
making the girl heartless. She had taken no 
account of the further fact that people without 
heads are not safe without hearts. 

The two were not talking, seemed hardly good 
friends. Miss Pudney was freezingly polite, ver}' 
distant, and scornfully, coldly resentful. Mrs. Wol- 
ferts looked fierce disapprobation and darted heat 
lightningall around; but beyond a deep, angry sigh 
now and then, she sat profoundly silent. 

And thus the two men found them. 

Pudney had intended to confine his communion 
with his daughter to a discussion of the weather 
but at the very outset he was unfortunate. 

“ How d’y do, Laura ! ” he cried cheerily. 

Miss Pudney looked up with a frown, scarcely 
nodded or spoke, and her father lost his wits and 
cried out at random : “ Pretty warm day ! But you 
don’t feel the heat in here ! ” 

Miss Pudney\s frown grew a scowl. 

One mistake led Pudney to another. 

“ I spSse likely you wunt be h6me for a while,” he 
cried drumming nervously on the table and studying 
the walls of the cell with the eye of an expert in 
granite. “ Mebbe you’d like me to have your plants 
clipped. If there’s anything you want attended to 
any time, you let me know.” 

“ Oh, I’ve probably come here to stajV’ haughtily 
returned Miss Pudney. 

“ Oh no, don’t understand me that way,” replied 
her father, floundering around. It was too bad to 
hurt her feelings when she was in such a box. “ I 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


269 


wunt allow anything like that ! We’ll see you 
through all right, you know, wunt we, Aunt Sue ? ” 

“Aunt Sue” was sternly silent and Pudney’s 
embarrassment was increasing. Then Wolferts, 
with philanthropic intent, thinking the sooner the 
subject was changed the better, inquired, drawing 
forth some newspapers, “ Would you like to look at 
the morning papers ? ” Scarcely were the words 
uttered than he saw his error; for the newspapers 
that morning were full of the murder. 

Possibly Miss Pudney surmised it. “No!” she 
cried severely, waving them back disdainfully, “no 
newspapers for me ! Newspapers are the product 
of the low for the low ! ” 

“ That’s so, Laura,” cried her father. “ The news- 
papers are full of lies, hain’t they ? ” 

Miss Pudney disdained any recognition of the 
remark and asked Wolferts if he would be so good 
as to order lunch. 

“Yes, that’s so,” cried Pudney, “we must have 
something to eat. Where can you find an3'thing 
fit to eat around these diggin’s ? ” 

Wolferts replied that he had not yet investigated 
the facilities and accommodations of the vicinage 
and started out to execute the commission, where- 
upon Pudney, glad to escape said, “ I guess I’ll go 
with you and see what we can scare up.” 

“Well,” he murmured as they stepped outside, 
“ she’s the same old sixpence.” 

“ Yes,” returned Wolferts. “ She is certainly re- 
markably unchanged, and remarkably self-pos- 
sessed.” 

“ Anybody might know she wa’n't guilty,” whis- 


270 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


pered Pudney as they walked along*, " to see how 
darned independent she is ! How long has she got 
to stay in that hole ? ” 

He had exhibited the appointments of that jail not 
a month ago to some visitors to the island and 
proudly declared it the finest jail in the United 
States, " better’n the county jail, handsomer than 
the State prison by a jugful ! Pd like to get into 
this jail myself ! It would be a pleasure,” he had 
facetiously declared on that occasion. 

"It is uncertain how long she must stay there,” 
replied Wolferts. " It is not a bailable offense, you 
know; and there is no knowing,” he added cau- 
tiously, " what the grand jury will do.” 

" That's so,” replied Pudney, gloomily. " But we 
must make the best of it; and we must hire the 
biggest lawyers in the United States to get her out 
of this scrape.” 

"That is very important,” replied Wolferts, " but 
I am hoping,” he added in a low tone, " to be able 
to knock the bottom out of this business by a dis- 
creet use of money.” 

" My God, if money is all you want,” cried Pudney 
feverishly, "draw on me for all I’m worth ! No 
child of mine is goin’ to Thomas ton if I can help it; 
and I want you to attend to this whole business.” 

"I will, I will,” warmly replied Wolferts. "I 
have promised poor Sue that nothing shall go amiss 
through any lack of endeavor on my part; and I 
repeat that promise you. I shall do all that lies 
in my power both for her sake and yours.” 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


271 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

A DISCREET USE OF MONEY. 

Pudney kept his word and supplied the money in 
lavish amounts and Wolferts did his part and sup- 
plied the discretion in equal proportion, and during 
the next two or three weeks the two commodities, 
well-combined and judiciously mixed together, did 
some effective service for the family honor. 

The grand jury, that blest body whose brains are 
never addled by hearing both sides of a story, 
promptly returned a true bill against the lovely 
prisoner in the Winthrop Harbor jail and she was 
removed the next morning to the Knox County jail 
at Rockland. 

Two da} T s later, the Passadumkeag, a cheap night 
boat from Boston, carrying mostly freight and only 
a few impecunious or economical passengers, brought 
to Rockland a little thin, middle-aged, rather seedy - 
looking individual — a queer-looking little man with 
a wart over his left eye. He carred a gingham 
umbrella in his hand, and a flat, oblong package 
under his arm. 

It was seven o’clock in the morning and the pas- 
senger looked as if he had not slept well. He gaped 
and yawned disconsolately and remembered with 
disgust just as he crossed the gang plank, that he 


272 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


was now in the State of Maine and had entirely for- 
gotten to bring along his morning “ bracer” — his 
“ little nip.” 

He went up the main street of the little seaside 
town, looking all about him with the curiosity of 
a stranger, taking his time, and entered the lirst 
little restaurant he came to and ordered something 
cheap, then kept his seat at the table and read the 
morning papers belonging to the establishment, a nd 
a little before nine he inquired the way to the office 
of Colonel Ricketts, the county attorney, and slowly 
proceeded thither. 

He was too early. The colonel had not arrived. 
He waited an hour, and at last, feeling tired and 
bored, and learning that the colonel might possibly 
have gone out in the harbor in his “ boat,” as the 
clerk called it (the colonel was not a man who over- 
tasked himself, but believed a public officer was 
entitled to plenty of recreation as long as his salary 
was running on just the same), he concluded to take 
a look around the town and “ stretch his legs ; ” so 
he wrote a note and left it on the prosecuting attor- 
ney's table, setting forth that he was B. F. Nash of 
25 Blank Street, Boston, that he had seen the por- 
traits of Miss Pudney in the newspapers and was 
satisfied she was a young lady to whom he had sold 
eight ounces of chloroform on the day that she was 
known to have been in Boston. He would call back 
in an hour. “ P. S. Have brought book showing 
entry of sales of poisons.” 

He strolled around town for a while and at the 
end of the hour returned to the prosecuting attor- 
ney's office, when he learned that that gentleman 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


273 


had been heard from — he had gone for a sail across 
the bay and would not be at the office till three. 

This was something the druggist from Boston 
had not reckoned on. He felt very much annoyed 
and thought public officials should attend to their 
business; but he said nothing and went dismally 
away, saying he would come back about three. 

He went out into the street, and not knowing 
what else to do with himself, he kept on walking 
straight ahead, in an aimless fashion, till he was 
again at the wharf. The sea breeze felt refreshing, 
and at that moment they were throwing off the 
ropes and pulling in the gang plank of a little 
steamer, bound, as he learned, for Winthrop Har- 
bor, the celebrated abode of the beautiful chloro- 
former. It was only ten miles across the bay and 
the fare a “ ninepence.” 

Where could he more pleasantly and economically 
pass the time till the county attorne3'’s return ? He 
jumped aboard and in an hour landed at the beauti- 
ful island city. He wandered up and down its 
broad, beautiful streets, and, at last, drawn thither 
wholly by the idle curiosity of an idle hour, he 
arrived at the great Pudney & Walp Granite 
Quarry, and roaming around these mammoth 
works, watching the progress of this giant industry 
for awhile, his impression of the immense wealth 
of its proprietors was far deeper than any news- 
paper account had been able to make. Two hun- 
dred thousand feet of lumber, they told him, was 
annually used in boxing the stone for shipment. 

Ideas began flowing into his mind. 

From the quarry, big with thought, he strolled 


274 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


up to Seaview and gazed upon the grandeur of that 
magnificent abode. 

“ Pretty rough on these rich people/' he thought 
to himself, “ to have a daughter sent to prison for 
life! Should think they'd buy off the prosecution." 

He kept on thinking thoughts like these till, at 
last, his dull brain bad evolved the idea that it 
might be worth more to him if he took his record of 
poison sales to the other side of the case. He had 
no personal interest whatever in seeing justice done. 
He was too poor to care anything about justice ex- 
cept for himself. He was not living for the public 
g'ood. He was looking out for B. F. Nash when he 
took a trip ticket on the Passadumkeag for Rock- 
land. If he could get his name into the papers in 
connection with such a celebrated case he regarded 
it as worth a small fortune. Eve^body for blocks 
around his’poor little “ cut rate " shop where every- 
thing was diluted and adulterated out of all useful- 
ness, would come to stare at the man and the store 
where the beautiful murderess bought the chloro- 
form; but what were the profits on plasters and 
pills compared with what these rich people would 
give him to go home and mind his business and keep 
his mouth shut ? He wished now he had not told 
his wife anything about it' — he had done that as 
part of the advertising scheme. He wished more 
yet he had not left that note at the prosecuting 
attorney's. But he need make no mention of that 
to the defendants. 

Whatever he was going to do, he must decide 
on at once. The boat left at two. He cogitated 
awhile longer, and concluded (it was not the first 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


275 


time he had arrived at this decision) that he was 
altogether too poor to be virtuous. So he waited 
till dark and then rang the bell at the stately man- 
sion overlooking the sea. 

He had not yet fixed a price upon his soul. He 
thought they could afford a pretty comfortable sum 
as he stood there, surveying the magnificence of 
that green velvety lawn under the gaslights, the 
opulence of the marbles and bronzes, as well as the 
breadth and height of the hall when the door 
opened. 

But Mr. Pudney saw nobody. Then he sent in a 
message, carefully worded, and a message came 
back— he must go to Mr. Wolferts. 

So out to Absequam he tramped, just a trifle dis- 
couraged, a little down-hearted, his step rather 
sluggish. 

He was in better spirits when he returned. He 
walked briskly, enjoyed the fresh air, took note of 
the beauties he passed. The price he had got for 
his soul pleased him beyond measure. It was the 
utmost he dreamed of. 

He crossed over to Rockland where he remained 
for the night — he had told Wolferts that daylight 
would find him in Boston — and the next morning 
he presented himself again at the office of the 
county attorney. 

That official, however, was not so overwhelmed 
with delight at seeing him as he expected, in fact, 
seemed rather cold and repellent. The druggist's 
apology for not coming back as agreed v r as ignored 
entirely. 

He hung around the office an hour before he re- 


276 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


ceived any attention or a look, or could g*et another 
word with the high magnate of the place. He was 
elbowed and pushed aside by everybody, told to go 
here, or take a seat there out of the way; and 
everybody got talked to and laughed with while he 
sat impatiently waiting. 

At last he grew so importunate that the great 
man who was joking in a learned and high-minded 
way that minute with a brother great man, looked 
at him sourly and growled : 

“ We’ve had a good many of you folks here, but 
they didn’t amount to anything,” and then to one 
of his officers, “Take this man over to the jail and 
see if he can identify Miss Pudney.” 

To the jail went B. F. Nash, his poison book under 
his arm and a thick wad of money in his breast 
pocket keeping his heart warm and full of interest 
in life and when he looked, and instantly and in- 
dubitably recognized (as who would not ? ) the 
queenly Miss Pudney, clad for the occasion though 
she was, in a blue calico gown, without collar or 
cuffs, her hair carefully tossed and tumbled by the 
jailor’s wife, standing ignominiously in a row of 
dish-washers, scrub girls, and other honest folk, 
hastily collected together from around about, he 
passed her by with a vacant stare and looked along 
the line again and again, and then gave up in 
despair. 

No, he couldn’t pick her out. He was so sure the 
party he remembered was the original of the pic- 
tures in the papers. Well, he must confess he was 
mistaken! Too bad! And he tried hard to look 
disappointed, and down-hearted, and out of pocket. 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


277 

Then he took the Passadumkeag back to Boston; 
and that was the last of B. F. Nash. 

Miss Pudney then returned to her cell and never 
thanked God or her uncle for her narrow escape 
(she had not forgotten the queer little druggist 
with the wart over his left eye), but tore off the 
calico robe in a frenzy. 

“Such degradation!” she cried. “And then to 
stand there amongst those low people ! ” 

“Yes, it is hard,” dryly responded her aunt who 
was with her that morning. “I shouldn’t like it 
myself; but I am not to blame for your being in 
this position. You must expect to put up with 
some inconveniences.” 

“I shall never do it again, I promise you ! ” she 
cried in a fury. 

She changed her mind perforce, no later than the 
next morning. More druggists came; and then three 
several young drug clerks separately identified her 
in her degrading disguise as a young lady to whom 
they had refused chloroform in the several drug- 
stores in which they were employed; and to each 
and every one of these honest people, the county 
attorney, Colonel Ricketts of Rockland, was ex- 
tremely polite, paid their expenses, and adjured 
them, as they loved the cause of justice, to say 
nothing whatever, to any person whomsoever, of 
their visit to Rockland, their recognition of the 
prisoner, or their knowledge of the crime. 

“ And I will wire you when I want you,” he said 
suavely to each separate one. 


276 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


ceived any attention or a look, or could get another 
word with the high magnate of the place. He was 
elbowed and pushed aside by everybody, told to go 
here, or take a seat there out of the way; and 
everybody got talked to and laughed with while he 
sat impatiently waiting. 

At last he grew so importunate that the great 
man who was joking in a learned and high-minded 
way that minute with a brother great man, looked 
at him sourly and growled : 

“ We’ve had a good many of you folks here, but 
they didn’t amount to anything,” and then to one 
of his officers, “Take this man over to the jail and 
see if he can identify Miss Pudney.” 

To the jail went B. F. Hash, his poison book under 
his arm and a thick wad of money in his breast 
pocket keeping his heart warm and full of interest 
in life and when he looked, and instantly and in- 
dubitably recognized (as who would not ? ) the 
queenly Miss Pudney, clad for the occasion though 
she was, in a blue calico gown, without collar or 
cuffs, her hair carefully tossed and tumbled by the 
jailor’s wife, standing ignominiously in a row of 
dish-washers, scrub girls, and other honest folk, 
hastily collected together from around about, he 
passed her by with a vacant stare and looked along 
the line again and again, and then gave up in 
despair. 

No, he couldn’t pick her out. He was so sure the 
party he remembered was the original of the pic- 
tures in the papers. Well, he must confess he was 
mistaken! Too bad! And he tried hard to look 
disappointed, and down-hearted, and out of pocket. 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


277 


Then he took the Passadumkeag hack to Boston; 
and that was the last of B. F. Nash. 

Miss Pudney then returned to her cell and never 
thanked God or her uncle for her narrow escape 
(she had not forgotten the queer little druggist 
with the wart over his left eye), but tore off the 
calico robe in a frenzy. 

"Such degradation!” she cried. "And then to 
stand there amongst those low people ! ” 

"Yes, it is hard,” dryly responded her aunt who 
was with her that morning. "I shouldn't like it 
myself; but I am not to blame for your being in 
this position. You must expect to put up with 
some inconveniences.” 

" I shall never do it again, I promise you ! ” she 
cried in a fu^. 

She changed her mind perforce, no later than the 
next morning. More druggists came; and then three 
several young drug clerks separately identified her 
in her degrading disguise as a young lady to whom 
they had refused chloroform in the several drug- 
stores in which they were employed; and to each 
and every one of these honest people, the county 
attorney, Colonel Ricketts of Rockland, was ex- 
tremely polite, paid their expenses, and adjured 
them, as they loved the cause of justice, to say 
nothing whatever, to any person whomsoever, of 
their visit to Rockland, their recognition of the 
prisoner, or their knowledge of the crime. 

" And I will wire you when I want you,” he said 
suavely to each separate one. 


278 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

COALS OF FIRE ON PUDNEY’S HEAD. 

The consuming’ idea in the public mind of Knox 
County, as the day arrived for the trial of Laura 
Pudney, was, would there be fair play ? “ Fair 

play ” meant that the beautiful and youthful Miss 
Pudney would pass the remainder of her mortal ex- 
istence sewing’ on coarse g-arments or shoes, or 
running- a loom, living- on boiled potatoes and bread 
and water, in the State prison at Thomaston. 
But was it possible that a young and beautiful girl, 
reputed accomplished, the daughter of a man worth 
his millions, would actually be doomed to this? 
Could it be done ? 

Some people said, “ Pudney’s too powerful. She 
can’t be convicted. She’ll get off.” 

But how was this power to work ? Was the jury 
to be corrupted? “We’ll tar and feather ’em!” 
How about the judge ? The judge was above suspi- 
cion. Goddard would be on the bench. Not a 
doubt was breathed against Goddard. They said 
he was strict but he was honest. Then how about 
Ricketts ? Opinions differed. Some said Ricketts 
was honest, Ricketts was incorruptible; and any- 
how, what can Ricketts do? He’s bound to prose- 
cute her. How can he help himself ? Others shook 
their heads; they were doubtful. Rich people had 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


279 


a way of getting cleared ; and all things considered, 
the whole county were anxious to attend the trial 
and see for themselves just where the screw was 
loose if justice miscarried; and the court room, the 
streets leading thereto, the whole little seaside town, 
were thronged with people of all conditions of life. 

The leading counsel for the defense was General 
Thomas F. Philbrooks — “ Tom Philbrooks ” as the 
newspapers had taught the public to call him, for, 
strangely enough, the more eminent the man, the 
more deservedly honored by his country, the more 
certainly he becomes Tom, Dick, Bill, Ben or Abe. 

Philbrooks was one of the immortal few who have 
succeeded in everything— a capable and useful com- 
mander of men in battle, a statesman who has left 
his influence upon his generation, and a lawyer 
whose shrewdness, learning, and eloquence, his 
ablest opponents have never despised. Preeminently 
an original man in every department of his under- 
takings, he was a man who could go ahead without 
precedents and depend, under all circumstances, on 
his own fertile brain— a man, take him all in all, of 
whom his countrymen should be proud, let them 
differ with him never so widely in opinion. 

The county attorney. Colonel Ricketts, had also 
no mean reputation either as a lawyer or an orator. 
Born a score or more years later than his great 
opponent, he was a student in the junior class at 
Bowdoin when the war broke out, and, fired with 
the desire to “lick the rebels/’ he left college, raised 
a company and went to the front. He served all 
during the war and returned at its close and looked 
about him. His class, dwindled to a handful, had 


280 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


graduated and gone, and he, minus his sheepskin, 
stood penniless and without trade or profession; 
and at twenty-five he had the world to begin over 
again. But in two years (how he accomplished it 
nobody knew) he was a member of the bar in three 
counties, in a few more, at the very head of the 
criminal branch of the law. 

At sharp ten o’clock Philbrooks, Ricketts, and 
their assistants entered the court room, and close 
behind them came Pudney, Mrs. Wolferts, the Duke 
and Duchess of Hurlborough, and behind these, 
Wolferts, walking at one side of the lovely Miss 
Pudney. The majority of those comprising the 
family group found seats in the reserved space 
within the bar in comparative seclusion from the 
gaze of the crowd, but there was one noteworthy 
exception. 

The court-room, which, if it had not been built, was 
certainly conceived in the Dark Ages when a person 
accused of a crime was esteemed guilty till proven 
innocent and, therefore, proper subject for humilia- 
tion, degradation, and the scorn and contumely of 
mankind, was provided with a good, old-fashioned 
dock — an elevated platform reached by two steps 
and surrounded by a high, iron railing furnished 
with a gate heavily padlocked ; and here, in full 
view of all the world, or so much of it as had suc- 
ceeded in crowding into the four walls of the hall of 
justice or clambering up to the window-sills, sat the 
lovely Miss Pudney with a stalwart sheepish look- 
ing deputy at her side. 

She certainly must have felt, at that moment, , 
that she had paid very dear for her whistle. But 


PUDNEY & WALP. 281 

however she felt, those who expected to see her look 
conscious of the ignominy of her situation, or in the 
least embarrassed or annoyed, or even indignant or 
resentful, were greatly disappointed. If the dock 
had been the highest-priced box at the opera, and 
the crowd gazing at her in envy of her beauty and 
wealth, she could not have looked more serene, 
more self-complacent, more self-satisfied. Her 
haughty, arrogant, angry looks, she had left at the 
door of the prison. She looked now as she looked 
in Absequam Woods when she walked by the side 
of the man whose wife had been murdered. She 
looked now as she looked when she won the hearts 
of princes and counts. She looked like a gentle, 
confiding, and lovable young girl, very high-bred, 
very ladylike, very decorous, not diffident, but mod- 
est and guileless; and nothing in her manner or 
face revealed that the charge brought against her 
preyed in the least on her mind. So might have 
looked a good, sweet little child standing in confid- 
ing simplicity at its mother’s knee, while some bad 
angry playmate made false and incredible charges 
against her which, on their face, her mother would 
know were not true! 

Her father thought the matter of the dock had 
been privately arranged, and when he beheld her 
sitting high in the air, with an officer at her side, 
he turned ghastly white, the room swam around 
him, he lurched forward and grasped the side of the 
counsel table. While he sat there dazed, stunned, 
half-unconscious, Philbrooks arose and asked leave 
for the defendant to sit by her counsel. 

The county attorney opposed the motion. It was 
*9 


284 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


“ General, I want jmu to fill up that jury-box to- 
morrow morning ! There liahTt twelve honest men 
in Knox County hut what’s worked in the quarry 
one time or another, or ben in our store or on our 
schooners, or is relationed to somebody else that 
has, or had dealings with me in some way; and 
every man that’s ever worked in the quarry has 
struck one time or another. Well, what of that? 
You don’t spose they are goin’ to send my daughter 
to State prison to spite me ? I know every man 
in the county. If I see any man go into the box 
that I don’t think will give a true verdict I’ll let 
you know, and what more can you want ? ” 

The distinguished counsel could not, by any man- 
ner of means, commit himself to do anything sug- 
gested by a client even if he intended to do it. He 
did say, however, it was beginning to look as if they 
would be obliged to ask for a change of venue, but 
he would see what they could do to-morrow. 

The next morning the county attorney and the 
counsel for the defense were seen to be in earnest 
conversation (somewhat to the surprise of the pub- 
lic who thought, by their fierce treatment of one 
another on the two preceding days, that they would 
never “ speak” again); and when court adjourned 
that day there was a jury in the box, and seven of 
them had, at some time of their lives, been quarry- 
men; and Lewis Harding was the foreman! 

“ They are all honest!” Pudney declared, but he 
felt very queer; and when they all arose, looking so 
solemn and so determined to do right (twelve tall 
Maine men), and with their hands on the Bible, took 
the oath to render a true verdict according to the 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


285 


evidence, it seemed as if he were choking. He felt 
a great lump in his throat, and it was more than 
he could do to turn and look at them squarely. 

He pondered the matter all night, unable to un- 
derstand why he felt that queer way. Yet it was 
simple — he was dreading the coals of fire on his 
head, the good they would return for his evil — for 
he still believed Laura was innocent. 


286 


PUDNBY & WALP. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

LAW AND JUSTICE VERSUS MONEY. 

The county attorney opened the case for the 
people with great ferocity. He called the beautiful 
and dainty Miss Pudney a bad, wicked woman and 
a great many other hard names. He told the jury 
(what he always told juries) that he had never 
before in his life prosecuted a case in which the evi- 
dence was so clear, so overwhelming, so convincing. 
He characterized the offense as “ unparalleled in the 
annals of crime” (another of his stock utterances). 
He alluded with much sarcasm to the high social 
connections of the prisoner and to the great wealth 
of her family which, he declared (how he must have 
laughed in his sleeves !) would not save her. He 
wound up by saying he was confident their verdict 
would be guilty and this bad wicked woman who 
murdered her friend in cold blood, would end her 
days at Thomaston. 

When he had ended, the people who, up to this 
hour, had believed that Pudney’s money had 
“ bought off the prosecution,” now changed their 
minds and declared that, at last, thank Heaven, the 
county had a prosecuting attorney who was above 
purchase. Ricketts was certainly in earnest, they 
said. He had called Miss Pudney hard names. 
He had called Pudney hard names; and he had 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


287 


boldly declared they were none the better for their 
money. Yes, Ricketts was terribly in earnest ! 

So while the public beamed approbation and 
Pudney looked wild, stung- to the quick by the 
speech, the level-headed prosecuting attorney called 
for Chatwold ! 

Ah ! Chatwold ! the supposed lover of the mur- 
deress ! What would he tell? Would he make a 
clean breast of it ? 

There was a moment’s delay and then Chatwold 
pressed through the throng to the stand. 

He had not had a brain fever and “hovered be- 
tween life and death ” as some of the newspapers 
asserted; but his natural pallor was greatly in- 
creased; his dark eyes looked larger than ever. 
His countenance could scarcely be called haggard 
and wan as described by some of the reporters; 
but it clearly revealed traces of great mental suffer- 
ing — grief, and, perhaps, remorse; bu^ he by no 
means looked crushed or broken in spirit; on the 
contrary, he seemed calm and collected, and ap- 
peared to have settled convictions and a well-defined 
purpose. In fact, his stern looks were thought 
Rhadamanthine and to some seemed to say what- 
ever the consequence to himself, he would conceal 
nothing. 

He spoke in clear, perfectly audible, but low tones, 
and with a very grave demeanor that grew graver 
even to solemnity as he proceeded, he told how he 
had found his wife dead. 

That was all. Not a word more. The county 
attorney was done with him ! 

The friends of the defense breathed a sigh of 


288 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


relief. The public was astonished, disappointed. 
Miss Pudney herself sat tranquil, raised her eyes 
undismayed, heard the story with interest, and 
looked quite absorbed in its details. When Phil- 
brooks arose and confronted the witness she glanced 
in a free, unconstrained, light-hearted way from 
one to the other, and seemed not to notice how 
sternly her recent companion in Absequam Woods 
kept his eyes from looking towards hers or even 
from seeing her. 

“ Mr. Chatwold,” began Philbrooks in affable 
tones (and how still was the court-room !) “ was 
there any understanding between yourself and the 
defendant that she was to become your wife in the 
event of Mrs. (JhatwokTs death ? ” 

All eyes were on the witness, breaths held, necks 
stretched up; Pudney clutched his cane and looked 
ready to use it, his eyes fastened with threatening 
aspect on the man in the witness chair; and Miss 
Pudney, for the first time, showed emotion — she was 
shocked and looked to her aunt for protection. 

As for Ricketts, he looked indifferent and made 
no objection; and clear, distinct, and emphatic came 
the answer : 

“ There was not ! " 

“ Did jmur acquaintance with the defendant ever, 
at any time, transcend the limits of propriety ? ” 

And Ricketts kept on looking indifferent and kept 
on making no objection ; and again came the answer, 
clear, distinct, and emphatic : 

“ Never, sir ! ” 

How cold and unemotional, how impassive and 
unmoved he looked ! 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


289 


“ Thank you, sir, that will do,” said the counsel 
for the defense; and Pudney relaxed his grip on his 
cane. 

The witness was about retiring. 

“ One moment, Mr. Chatwold, if you please.” 

It was the county attorney, and the public 
thought, “ Ah ! now we shall get it ! ” 

“You were frequently in the company of the 
prisoner alone, were you not, took many solitary 
walks with her in Absequam Woods?” 

“ I object ! ” shouted the counsel for the defense. 
“You can't cross-examine your own witness.” 

“ I don't intend to cross-examine the witness ! ” 
retorted Ricketts indignantly. “ I merely wish to 
refresh his memory.” 

“ The question is cleariy an impeachment of the 
witness's previous testimony,” replied Phil brooks. 

“The objection is sustained,” said the judge. 

“ I except,” cried Ricketts with an air of knowing 
he was right and feeling himself ill-used. He bowed 
politely to Chatwold, said, “Thank you,” very 
courteously and that gentleman was about to 
descend from the stand when Philbrooks stopped 
him. 

“ One moment, if you please. Did you ever walk 
alone with Miss Pudney in Absequam Woods or 
elsewhere, or ever pay her any attention whatso- 
ever, or pass any time alone in her company ? ” 

“ I never did, sir, never! ” replied Chatwold firmly 
and emphatically, though he turned just a shade 
paler and his great black eyes glittered. 

“Thank you, sir, that is all,” said the counsel for 
the defense; and while the poor, dull public were 


290 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


wondering* what it meant that Philbrooks should 
ask the very same question he objected to from 
Ricketts, the prosecution, as became evident later, 
lay sprawling — knocked on the head at the outset, 
killed outright with one blow ! 

The next witness was Tarpey; and while the 
clerk was administering the oath, the judge, unob- 
served, sent an officer to Pudney; and while that 
irascible individual's eyes were fixed resentfully on 
the witness, his cane went quietly and peacefully 
into the custody of the court. He missed it, how- 
ever, the next moment and began excitedly looking 
for it, for poor honest Tarpey was filling up the gaps 
in his knowledge as it stood that night of the murder 
with his subsequent discoveries. 

Asked concerning the figure of the woman on the 
balcony, he replied confident^: "It came out of 
Miss Pudney's room and went into Mrs. Chatwold's 
room, and then went back into Miss Pudney's 
room." 

Like lightning, Pudney, pale with rage, sprang 
towards him and the next moment he was wrestling 
with the court officers and Wolferts; but above the 
din in the room, rose a voice distinct and imperative: 

"Pudney !" 

Pudney, with his fist clenched, his eyes glaring 
at the blanched face of the witness, heard it, looked 
around panting, saw the judge looking down upon 
him, and in one moment ceased struggling with his 
captors. 

“ If you will take my advice," said the judge, “ you 
will leave the defense of your daughter to her 
counsel." 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


291 


“ Judge, I forgot myself !” gasped Pudney look- 
ing like a man aroused from a dream. 

The judge bowed and Pudney dropped into his 
chair and the next moment the wheels of justice 
were rolling on as if nothing had happened. The 
people had expected the offender to be fined if not 
committed for contempt, or that at least, for ap- 
pearances’ sake, he would be reprimanded. But 
Judge Goddard (one of the indigenous growths of 
old Maine) undoubtedly thought “appearances”, 
could best be taken care of by showing respect for 
suffering humanity. At all events, he sat calm and 
composed and only bowed to the county attorney 
and said, “ Proceed, if you please.” 

Poor Tarpey, by that time, had recovered his 
presence of mind and reconsidered his words. He 
was a conscientious and well-meaning fellow, and 
the remainder of his story he related in slow and 
cautious tones, not forgetting to take a sweeping- 
glance, once in a while, around that portion of the 
room occupied by Pudney. 

When Philbrooks arose, Tarpey turned his honest 
blue eyes expectantly upon him and fearlessly 
awaited the onset. But not a word spoke the 
counsel, but just stood there with his brows con- 
tracting, his e3 r es boring into the soul of his witness. 
Then Tarpey lost his wits, his honest blue eyes fell 
to the toe of his boots, the blood rushed to his face 
and covered his forehead, neck and ears. He tried 
to cool off by jerking at his collar, then he en- 
deavored to exhibit his courage by raising his eyes, 
but down they fell again like two lumps of lead. 

Then the great lawyer sniffed the air contemp- 


292 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


tuously, expanded liis chest, and in tones that 
thrilled through the vitals of every sinner in the 
room, he cried : 

“ Did you ever speak an untruth ?” 

Poor Tarpey ! If he had only been anywhere else 
he would have answered with a grin and a roguish 
twinkle of the eye, “ You bet !” or if he had only 
been just a little better versed in the ways of the 
world, he would have replied with great dignity, 
“Not under oath, sir, to send a fellow-being to 
State prison for life.” But this honest young rustic 
jerked his fingers, grew redder and redder, looked 
foolish, and answered with his eyes on the floor : 

“ I — may — have.” 

“You — may — have ! ” repeated the lawyer sternly 
and then, in a terrible voice, “ Did you ever read in 
the Holy Bible , 4 Thou shalt not bear false witness 
against thy neighbor ’ ? ” 

Poor Tarpey by this time was quite out of his 
mind, and scarcely realizing the import of the ques- 
tion, answered confusedly : “ Yes, sir, I learnt all the 
commandments Tore I was knee high to a toad.” 

“Well, sir, we will see how you observe them ! ” 
cried the lawyer. “You say you first saw this 
female figure at one o’clock ? ” 

“No, I didn’t !” retorted Tarpey bluntly, recover- 
ing his wits all at once. “ I saw the light first at 
one o’clock. I didn’t see no figger till the light went 
back and that was a good half-hour afterwards.” 

“Oh, then you saw this female figure first at 
half-past one? Aha! we must get this thing right, 
Mr. Tarpey. Now sir,” growing fierce again, “how 
did you know what time it was ? ” 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


293 


“ I spose I looked at my watch,” replied Mr. Tar- 
pey cautiously and thoughtfully; hut no sooner had 
these words passed his lips than his eyes fell again 
to the toes of his hoots, the color surged into his 
face, and hitching around in his chair with the dis- 
cerning eyes of the lawyer upon him, he was about 
to contradict the statement, when that penetrating 
individual asked in sarcastic tones: 

“ Are you very sure, Mr. Tarpey, that you looked 
at your watch at all ? ” 

“No, sir, come to think of it, I recollect now, I 
didn't have my watch with me that night.” He 
thought he would rather die than to make this sus- 
picious confession and he looked as he felt. 

The great lawyer understood his dilemma and 
made the most of it. 

“Will you tell me,” he cried savagely, “how you 
pretend to know the time of night without a watch 
or clock ?.” 

“ Why, in the first place,” returned Tarpey, “ I 
always kinder feel time; but when I'm outdoors at 
night I tell time by the stars.” 

“You — tell — time by the — stars!” repeated Phil- 
brooks incredulously. “Are you an astronomer, Mr. 
Tarpey ? ” 

“ Ho, sir, I h ain't; but I can tell time by the stars 
as well as I can by the sun. My father learnt me 
how when I was a little shaver and I hain't never 
forgot it. If you was ever outdoors all night,” he 
went on glibly, “ you'd soon learn how to tell time 
by the stars. All you got to do is to watch them 
seven big stars in the dipper and see how they turn 
'round the North Star.” He was perfectly collected 


294 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


now and knew what he was talking about. He had 
not been brought up to doubt but that he was as 
good as anybody, and, to tell the truth, Philbrooks, 
that great apostle of the equality of all mankind, 
black and white, would have admired his rustic 
manliness if he could have afforded himself . that 
pleasure at the moment; under the circumstances 
the witness must be overthrown, and gazing at him 
satirically, he cried: 

"Mr. Tarpey, you have said once that you learned 
the time by looking at your watch ; now you sa} r 
you learned it by consulting the stars. Which are 
we to believe ? ” 

"I am sure I -told time that night by the stars, 
because,” he added in his zeal to establish the truth* 
"a friend of mine had my watch.” 

But Tarpey was not sufficiently cultured to be 
able to tell an untruth without blushing. The 
words were scarcely uttered before he remembered 
that he was under oath and, therefore, not quite at 
liberty to tamper with facts. He was about to 
qualify his statement, but what could he say ? How 
could he expose family matters here before every- 
body ? He was not going to explain that he had a 
poor shiftless brother who had borrowed his last 
cent and that he had pawned his watch to supply 
food to that brother’s family. He would go to jail 
first! 

The shrewd lawyer beheld his mental agony and 
in clear, sharp tones, demanded: "What is the 
name of that friend who had 3'our watch ? ” 

" That was a mistake about a friend havin’ it,” 
cried Tarpey in haste and great confusion. 
"’Twan’t a friend exactly.” 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


295 


Titters in the audience still further disconcerted 
him and when Philbrooks fiercely demanded to 
know where the watch was, he blurted out, looking 1 
and feeling lost to all decent society forever : “ It 
was at Tompkinses!” and the titter became gen- 
eral. 

“ Oho ! at a pawnbroker’s ? ” 

“ Yes, sir!” very sullen the answer; and the 
words, “ a liar is not to be believed even when he 
speaks the truth ” were ringing in his ears as long 
as he remained on the stand, and his face, his tones, 
and his language plainly revealed the fact that he 
knew all his statements were suspected. The air of 
conscious rectitude had departed; he made all his 
replies with sullen embarrassment and his useful- 
ness as a witness for the State was finally ended up 
in the following dialogue : 

“You had a brother at work in Mr. Pudney’s 
quarry at one time ? ” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Your brother joined in a strike ? ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ And when the strike was over he was not taken 
back?” 

“ No, sir.” 

“ And then your brother joined with others and 
painted Mr. Pudney’s house in stripes of red and 
green ? ” 

“ I dunno, I wa’n’t there.” 

At this fine technical stumbling-block, Philbrooks 
bristled up, glared at the witness and thundered: 

“Haven’t you heard him boast of it?” 

“I hain’t to blame for nothin’ my brother done,” 
replied Tarpey sulkily. 


296 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


" But you supported him and sustained and en- 
'couraged him in doing' it, did you not?” cried the 
lawyer sternly. 

"No, I never did,” cried Tarpey excitedly, "I 
never advised him to act that way. I told him all 
the time he’d get found out. But I couldn’t he.lp 
it.” Then feeling 1 that he had been too severe on 
his own flesh and blood — his only and unfortunate 
brother, he added in tones of suppressed indignation 
and excitement, “ He had a good deal to aggravate 
him into doin’ what he done and you can’t hardly 
blame him. He’s got a big 1 fam’ly, and when the 
strike was over and he’d caved in ’long 1 with the 
rest, he, and a lot more, wa’n’t taken back; but a 
dirty low crowd of Irish Paddies was taken on in- 
stead.” 

"And so you think it served Mr. Pudney right to 
have his house painted in those beautiful stripes ?” 

"I dunno but what it did!” retorted the witness 
desperately. "’Tain’t nothin’ to me one way or 
t’other. I didn’t do it.” 

“ But you thought it served him right ? And you 
also thought it would serve him right and avenge 
your brother’s wrongs for you to pretend you saw 
his daughter on the balcony that night with a light 
coming from the room of this murdered woman ?” 

"I never said it for that!” retorted the witness 
in helpless indignation. 

"That will do, sir,” replied Philbrooks waving 
his hand in dismissal as though consigning the wit- 
ness to the Bottomless Pit. " I am done with you, 
sir— forever, I hope,” and poor Tarpey skulked into 
a corner feeling eternally disgraced and wishing he 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


297 


had run away that night or never said a word 
about what he saw. 

The next witness called to the stand was Miss 
Virginia Dairy mple, an elegantly and expensively 
dressed young lady with many flounces and fur- 
belows, many bangles and bracelets, though with all 
her finery she could hardly be called a beauty. She 
possessed a very beautiful and symmetrical form, 
however, and was extremely courtly in her bearing 
and very stylish in her manners; she seated herself 
in the witness-chair with perfect grace and the 
utmost composure and bore about her a fine air of 
affluence, ease, and aristocratic lineage. She had 
come to tell what she bad seen by “peeking” 
through the blinds at Absequam and otherwise 
playing the spy; and her oath was as good as any- 
body’s despite the fact that not so many years ago 
the highest tribunal in the land had been unable to 
find that the laws of the United States had bestowed 
upon her any rights which the white man was 
bound to respect. 

She had lost her valuable position in the kitchen 
at Absequam through her excessive intelligence; 
for, although she was not unwilling to dispose of 
her conscience at a fair valuation, she had a tongue 
which her master and mistress esteemed above 
purchase; and for the past few weeks she had been 
maintained, as an indispensable witness, at the 
expense of the county. 

“ What do you expect to prove by this witness ? ” 
demanded the great champion of her race in bellig- 
erent tones. 

“ I expect to show that an intimacy existed be- 
20 


298 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


tween the prisoner and the husband of the mur- 
dered woman,” replied Ricketts defiantly, “ that 
they took long walks together in Absequam Woods 
alone, and that their behavior towards one another 
was that of lovers.” 

“ I object, your honor, to one word of testimony 
of this character,” said Philbrooks. “ The people’s 
own witness, Chatwold himself, has testified that 
no such relations existed, that no such walks ever 
took place, and that he never passed any time in 
the defendant’s company alone. The prosecution 
cannot introduce the testimony now proposed with- 
out discrediting their own witness.” 

The county attorney’s reply had all the appear- 
ance, to the public looking on to see fair play, of 
profound erudition and of thorough sincerity. There 
were exceptions, he said, to the rule that the party 
calling a witness could not contradict that witness; 
and certainly if ever that rule should be set aside, 
this was a proper occasion. The witness Chatwold 
he said, was called by the prosecution to present a 
totally distinct set of facts from those called out on 
cross-examination. The State had not expected 
nor attempted to prove a criminal or improper 
intimacy by this witness (Chatwold) who, by such 
testimony, must inculpate and disgrace himself. 
The facts drawn from him on cross-examination 
were entirely outside of his direct examination and 
were not called out for the purpose of discrediting 
anything to which he had testified on the direct; it 
was, therefore, manifestly unjust that the prosecu- 
tion should be handicapped by testimony like this 
* — that it should be bound by the allegations of a 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


299 


man placed like the witness who could not testify 
to the truth, in those particulars, without exposing’ 
his own turpitude. The people’s case should not be 
thus destroyed and the guilty party allowed to 
escape. 

His voice vibrated with indignation in the closing 
words; and how resolute, how honest, how full of 
hatred for the evil-doer he seemed ! 

“ H ain’t he after the prisoner’s scalp with a 
vengeance, though ! ” whispered the people who were 
looking on to see fair play. They were proud of 
their county attorney and they meant to reelect 
him. 

And all the while Philbrooks was thinking, “ This 
is a devil of a fellow for a prosecuting officer ! ” and 
he felt like saying, “ This is all confounded rot, your 
honor;” and, as it was, he could not refrain from 
beginning his reply with the remark that it was 
scarcely worth while to argue the matter. This 
was not a case, he said, where the party calling a 
witness had been betrayed by him; nor had the 
witness testified contrary to what the county at- 
torney had a right to expect. He had not been 
taken by surprise. He must have known, before 
he put the witness on the stand, how he would 
testify; and he makes no claim that the witness had 
ever stated the facts differently out of court or 
promised to testify differently; nor was he a witness 
whom the State was compelled by law to call nor 
even by the exigencies of the case, since, by the 
witness’s own testimony, there were other persons 
who could have given the same evidence that he had 
given on the direct examination. To admit the 


300 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


evidence which the county attorney now offered 
would simply be to allow the prosecution to im- 
peach and discredit their own witness whose testi- 
mony covered every particular of the proposed 
evidence. As to his friend’s claim that the defense 
had cross-examined the witness on the whole case 
and on matters outside of his direct examination, 
“ I heard,” he said with a tinge of sarcasm in his 
tones, “no objection from the county attorney at 
the time and the evidence is before the jury.” 

Ricketts, looking all on fire and brimful of fight, 
then attempted to make another speech, but the 
judge interrupted him, saying dryly: 

“I don’t want to hear anything more. It is a 
waste of time. The objection is sustained.” 

“I except !” cried Ricketts, fiercely; and oh, how 
unfair the people looking on, perishing of curiosity 
to hear what Miss Virginia Dairy mple had to tell, 
thought that ruling was, when it was so important 
to show the motive for the murder ! How sincere 
and astonished they, in their ignorance, thought 
the incorruptible county attorney was ! How hard 
he had fought to get the evidence in ! And the 
judge refused even to listen to his argument ! So 
they thought that the great and good judge was a 
worshiper of mammon and that, if none of Pudney’s 
money swelled his bank account, at least his sym- 
pathies went out to money-bags; and Ricketts, the 
rascal who had put Chatwold on the stand for 
nothing else than to reach this inevitable result, 
who had remained silent and allowed the fatal 
cross-examination to proceed without an objection, 
who had the effrontery to stand up before a judge 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


301 


like Goddard and pretend to believe he had a legal 
peg to hang an argument on, they, in their ignor- 
ance, thought was contending like a hero, pure and 
incorruptible, against the fearful odds of money, 
beauty, and social preeminence, for law and justice ! 

Miss Dalrymple, who had been elegantly occupy- 
ing the witness chair all .this time, was dismissed 
without having uttered a word; and how she re- 
gretted not having disposed of her knowledge for a 
valuable consideration while it was worth some- 
thing ! Half a dozen other witnesses, possessing the 
same dearly bought knowledge — Miss Dalrymple’s 
co-partners in the peeking business and others were 
also informed by the county attorney in aggrieved 
tones that they would not be wanted. 

Thus was the State “ unable ” to prove notorious 
facts in the possession of a lot of live people within 
the very temple of justice ! Yet what did the 
public looking on to see “ fair play ” — to see where 
the screw was loose, understand of the position of 
things or of the chicanery by which it was brought 
about ? Nothing whatever, except that the defense 
had got the best of it — confirming what they knew 
in the beginning — that Pudney’s money would hire 
a lot of big lawyers who would get the prisoner off 
some way ! 

After that (although it was a silly waste of time 
and a criminal waste of the public money, especially 
as Mr. B. F. Nash had never turned up any more 
and Ricketts had literally kept his word about 
“wiring” the three drug clerks “when he wanted 
them ”) a number of witnesses testified to having 
seen Miss Pudney either on the boat going to or 


302 


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returning’ from Boston on the day before the mur- 
der; hut these, on cross-examination, were skillfully 
forced to admit that they knew her only by sight 
and that it was quite possible that they might be 
mistaken as to her identity ; and a man who had 
met her on that day on the street in Boston and 
was not to be shaken as to the time or place, was 
obliged to confess that he had once been one of 
Pudney’s striking stone-cutters and had never been 
taken back. 

There was another witness who expected to be 
called, Miss Annette Pancoast, the intelligent 
chambermaid at Seaview (for Pudney’s old friends 
were all back again). This honest woman knew all 
about that flying visit home and all about the trip 
to Boston. Ricketts had told her “ not to talk ” 
till he put her on the stand. He “ wanted to take 
the other side by surprise;” and she sat there as 
dumb as an oyster, her two big lack-lustre eyes 
fixed in patient suspense on the incorruptible county 
attorney, waiting for the call that never came. 
Miss Pillsbury, who would have been as useful to 
the State as Miss Pan coast, had obligingly gone 
out West to visit her relations; her salary went on 
just the same and Pudney’s money had paid her 
fare; but nobody was sorry when it was found that 
she was never coming back, for though she sympa- 
thized deeply with Pudney she was the owner of a 
very talented and picturesque tongue with a ten- 
dency to perpetual motion. They would have been 
glad to send Miss Pancoast to keep her company, 
but that good woman had vehemently declared that 
“ there was no way to stop her mouth,” although 
she lived to learn better. 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


303 


Mackintosh was the next witness, and it was 
clear by the time they were through with him that 
neither cardiac nor pulmonary disease had any- 
thing to do with causing the murdered woman’s 
death. He also explained how impossible it was 
that Miss Pudney could have been put under the 
influence of chloroform more than a very brief time 
before she was discovered, or nearly four hours 
after Mrs. Chatwold’s death. 

As Mackintosh left the stand Ricketts announced 
that the prosecution rested — rested, with neither a 
motive for the murder nor anything to do it with ! 
That was the incorruptible county attorney’s case; 
and when the reporters gathered around him, 
clamoring to know if he expected a verdict, he 
replied confidently : 

“ Expect a verdict? Of course I expect a ver- 
dict !” 


304 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

A GREAT SEARCH FOR THE TRUTH 

The first witness for the defense was the prison- 
er’s beautiful aunt. 

Was it because Mrs. Wolferts had been to Bucks- 
port, had traveled in Europe, was worth a million 
or two, was accustomed to the gaze of multitudes, 
knew a good deal of the world, could speak French, 
knew German, had read a great many books, was 
used to the society of the great, that she could go 
upon the stand with ease, with the appearance of 
perfect sincerity and sweet womanly candor, and 
testify that Laura was at Absequam, confined to 
her room, indisposed, all the time she was buying 
chloroform in Boston ? 

That was her testimony, and you would say it 
was true, or, at least, that she thought so. How- 
ever, high authorities do say there is no falsehood 
that can withstand the ordeal of a capable, faithful, 
searching cross-examination. 

Ricketts was capable and sometimes he was 
faithful. He now arose, knit his brows, scowled upon 
her, and in loud angry tones asked her — how old 
she was, how man}' times she had been married, if 
she was not the owner of a half interest in the Pud- 
ney & Walp Granite Quarry, and if there had not 
been three strikes there in the past three years. 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


305 


Having* thus shown the falsity of her evidence he 
cried contemptuously: 

“ That will do, madam.” 

Then Professor Baudwitch, a gentleman about 
thirty-five years of age, wearing glasses with bows 
curling over his ears, solemnly took the oath, 
clasped a pair of very thin white hands, and looked 
expectantly and calmly through his glasses at the 
questioner. 

"You are a botanist, professor ? ” 

" They call me so,” replied the professor with a 
deprecating smile and a modest blush tingeing his 
pale cheek. He had written only about half as 
many treatises on that science as he was years old. 

"You were visiting at Absequam about the fif- 
teenth of July ?” 

"I had that very great pleasure” (with a bow 
and a smile towards Mrs. Wolferts). 

" Do you remember seeing Miss Pudney there ? ” 

" Oh, very well, very well indeed,” such nice po- 
lite tones, and such a sweet confiding smile towards 
the Pudney group. 

"You devoted your time largely during your 
visit to gathering plants in Absequam Woods ?” 

"Yes, a great part of the time during the day, a 
very considerable part.” (He began only at 5 a.m. 
and knocked off at 8 P.M., taking a recess at meal 
time.) 

"Professor, do you remember,” continued the 
adroit questioner, "whether or not Miss Pudney 
was at Absequam on the day prior to Mrs. Chat- 
wokPs death ?” 

Now it happened that when Mrs. Wolferts tear- 


306 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


fully put this very question to the tender-hearted 
professor, asking him if he did not remember hear- 
ing it talked of at the table that her niece was con- 
fined to her room with some slight ailment, being 
a man of fine instincts and extremely anxious to 
relieve the distressed, and not really knowing one 
word of the gossip concerning Miss Pudney and 
Chat wold, seeing no earthly reason why such a rich 
and lovely young lady should go about murdering 
people, and certainly remembering that he had fre- 
quently heard of some lady or other who was indis- 
posed and confined to her room — yesterday, last 
week, or some time or other, he naturally thought, 
of course, that his extremely hazy recollection of 
the conversation in question was due entirely to his 
own exceedingly regrettable and highly deplorable 
deficiencies, particularly his very reprehensible 
absent-mindedness and total oblivion to table talk; 
and as all his life he had striven to conceal these de- 
fects of his, making up for them by accepting other 
people's versions of what was said in his hearing if 
any necessity arose, he immediately declared that 
he remembered the conversation well, believing in 
his heart that he ought to remember it. By the 
time he was summoned to court, having related it, 
on demand, a hundred times, he thought he did re- 
member it. He would have been just as well satis- 
fied if some one else, not so busy and with a clearer 
memory of all the details, had been called upon in 
his place; but he ascribed this state of feeling to 
his inherent depravity, his barbaric ingratitude, 
and his too shameful indifference to the welfare of 
his fellow-creatures. As to the evidence against the 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


307 


young’ lady, he had not read a line of it. He was, 
however, rather puzzled to know how he could aid 
the defense with hearsay evidence; hut Wolferts 
had assured him that “ Philbrooks could get it in 
some way.” All he had to do was to answer his 
questions. So now, when the skilful lawyer put the 
interrogatory in this form, he answered it under 
oath as he had answered it a dozen times out of 
court, reserving explanations as to how he came by 
his knowledge till they were called for — he remem- 
bered the day perfectly well he said and he dis- 
tinctly remembered that the young lady was at 
Absequam, which he conscientiously believed to be 
the case and which he had assured every one all 
summer was the case; but the explanations which, 
in his childlike simplicity, he took for granted were 
to follow, remained, through no fault of his, locked 
in his own breast. 

Philbrooks was done with him and Ricketts never 
seemed to doubt the sufficiency of his knowledge. 
The county attorney, however, surveyed him with 
great hostility and asked him in very insinuating 
tones if he had not, at one time, been a suitor for 
Mrs. Walp’s hand, at which the professor turned as 
pink as a blush rose but retained his scholarty dig- 
nity and replied, in very courteous tones, that he 
had never been so presumptuous. Then asked 
Ricketts : 

“ Are you a married man ? ” 

“ I am not,” gently replied the professor, turning 
pink again. 

“ That will do, thank you,” said Ricketts. 

The professor had intended to go to his late host- 


308 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


ess and speak with her, hut this had rendered him 
diffident; so, bowing- very low towards the party, 
he was about to depart when he met the gaze of 
Miss Pudney and his conscience smote him for his 
thoughtlessness and want of sympathy with his 
suffering fellow-creatures; and he went to them and 
shook hands with them cordially all around and 
seated himself at the side of the prisoner. 

Miss Lydia Jewell was the next witness sum- 
moned. 

“ What in the world can they he goiffi to prove 
by Lyddy Jewell,” thought Pudney who was not in 
their secrets. 

Miss Jewell was visibly “ rattled.” She stumbled 
on her dress in stepping up to the witness-stand, 
seated herself awkwardly and uncomfortably; and 
although by no means naturally bashful or timid, 
her usually cherry-colored lips were perfectly white; 
her breath came short and quick; and she looked, 
at that moment, as if she would not be able to tell 
her own name. But Wolferts, the general manager, 
sent for a glass of water and she revived a little. 

Then Philbrooks showed his skill in handling a 
panic-stricken witness, drawing forth from Miss 
Jewell that she was doing fine sewing for Mrs. 
Wolferts at the time of Mrs. ChatwokTs death 
(Pudney thought she had been at home all summer) 
and that the day before that event she saw Miss 
Pudney in her room, having gone there to carry 
her a plate of soup. 

These replies she gave in a low, tremulous voice 
and a very distracted manner; and her face had by 
no means recovered its usual brilliant color. 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


309 


What a contrast between this and a previous 
occupant of that chair, Mrs. Wolferts! Yet they 
were both the daughters of farmers, born in the 
same town; they had skated and slidden down-hill 
together in their childhood, and till they were four- 
teen or fifteen years of age, had gone together with 
their dinner-pails full of pie and doughnuts to the 
same district school. After that their paths had 
widely diverged; the one had gone to Bucksport 
Seminary; the other, although her father could 
well have borne the trifling expense, had no aspira- 
tions beyond bleaching linen, making preserves, 
putting up pickles, and collecting recipes of every 
description; and she was a mighty comfortable 
person to have about the house. But you could see 
she was not quite at ease in her best clothes; and 
she had never acquired the valuable art of telling 
lies with polished elegance and composure. 

All the while she was giving her testimony, every 
word of which counsel was obliged to repeat to the 
jury so low were her tones, Ricketts stood with his 
arms folded listening intently, his eyes bent upon 
her, adding no little to-her confusion. As she her- 
self afterwards declared, “ If he ? d V gone at me 
hammer and tongs, he'd V finished me, for I was 
ready to drop.” 

Ricketts, however, did nothing of the kind. He 
cross-examined her as he had all the witnesses of 
the defense, not to discredit their evidence, but 
rather to appear satisfied of its truth and unassail- 
able character by an exhibition of the extreme per- 
sonal animosity and hostility expected of an over- 
zealous advocate towards a witness who has 
demolished his case. 


310 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


It was necessary to be very discreet in handling* 
Miss Jewell. 

" Madam, you have been for some years a servant 
in Mr. Pudney’s family, have you not ? ” 

The color returned to Miss Jewell’s pale cheek and 
lips; her eyes flashed; her spirit was up. No more 
was she a panic-stricken, conscience-smitten wit- 
ness, trying to help Sue Walp keep her good-for- 
nothing niece out of Thomaston! Ricketts knew 
his countrywoman and he was wide awake. 

" Don't you dare call me a servant,” she cried ; 
and how marvelously clear and resonant had be- 
come that feeble Amice ! 

" Oh, then you lived there as a friend ? Or was 
it as a boarder ? ” 

"Neither one,” snarled Miss Jewell. "What do 
you take me for? There hain’t a lazy bone in my 
hide ! I worked there, and earnt my wages.” 

" Working at Mr. Pudney’s, you became acquainted 
with the prisoner ? ” 

" Pve known Laura Pudney sence she was knee 
high to a toad. Spose I have ? ” 

"Your friendship for her then must be \mry 
great ? ” 

Mrs. Wolferts had told Miss Jewell if they asked 
her anything she was uncertain how to answer to 
say she had forgotten or didn’t know. She pon- 
dered, biting her nails. Neither of these answers 
fitted the emergency, and she cast a sidelong glance 
towards her able instructor, and then replied 
huffily : 

" I don’t calc’late that’s any of your business if 
you will excuse me for tellin’ you so to your head.” 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


311 


By this time Ricketts probably thought Miss 
Jewell could take care of herself; and looking fix- 
edly into her face he asked : 

“ You say you carried soup to the prisoner the day 
before this murder. Did she eat that soup with a 
teaspoon or a large spoon ? ” 

Miss Jewell’s face blanched again. She clutched 
the arms of the chair and replied faintly: 

“ I don’t recollect.” 

Seeing that she was on the verge of fainting he 
roared : 

“ How old are you ? ” 

“ I’m thirty-one, if that’s any of your business ! ” 
retorted Miss Jewell spitefully. 

“ Miss Jewell, your father owns an extensive apple 
orchard ? ” 

“Wall, spose he does ? What’s that to you ? ” 

“ How many barrels of hard cider does your father 
turn out of his orchard per annum to inebriate the 
youth of this country ? ” 

“ My father don’t make no hard cider, I thank you 
most to death,” retorted Miss Jewell, her face ablaze 
with indignation. “All our windfalls — nasty, rot- 
ten, wormy things, we send to Jackson’s cider mill, 
but we don’t do it on shares, we sell our apples, we 
don’t sell no cider.” 

“Ah! that’s the way you lick the devil around 
the stump, is it, Miss Jewell ? ” 

“Well, anyhow, they hain’t my apples! What’s 
that got to do with me ? ” 

“You derive a profit, probably, from the sale, and 
you engage in gathering the apples ? ” 

“ If I’m to home I do, of course. I guess ’tain’t 


312 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


no sin to help my rheumatic old father pick up 
apples." 

“You think it no sin to engage in a good paying 
industry that desolates the homes and wrecks the 
families of your fellow-men ? " 

"Oh, fiddlesticks! I guess all the cider Jackson 
makes gets drank up before it gets a chance to git 
very old ! " 

"Fine temperance people around your way!" 

" That hahTt my fault ! I don’t never drink it ! I 
belong to the Temperance Lodge, and if I didn’t I 
wouldn’t drink none of Jackson’s cider anyhow. It 
tastes too much of rotten apples. ’Tain’t fit for 
anything but vinegar." 

"You think so long as you abstain from drink 
yourself it’s no matter how man y other people are 
ruined by it! That will do, madam." 

Miss Jewell flounced out of the witness-chair feel- 
ing greatly discomfited that she had not been able 
to have the last word (it was the first time in her 
life !) but she was presently greatly consoled by the 
reflection that he had not cornered her on the soup 
question. He must have believed that lie, she 
thought, and it greatly diminished her idea of him. 
She always thought lawyers knew lies by sight. 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


313 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

ALL TALK. 

By the time the case was closed for both sides, 
General Philbrooks* pockets were well wadded with 
telegraph despatches demanding his presence in 
various parts of the country, and before he took 
his stand in front of the jury to sum up, he told 
Pudney and Wolferts that he should not make a 
long speech. Miss Pudney was safe, he said, and 
he wanted to catch the five o*clock train for Boston. 

The two lawyers had already parceled out the 
remaining time between them. It was half-past 
one already. The county attorney wanted to make 
rather a long speech for appearances* sake, but he 
agreed »to confine himself to two hours; so Phil- 
brooks said, “ I can say all Pve got to say in half 
an hour.** 

Pudney was a good deal frightened at the idea of 
Philbrooks* making only a short speech, and down 
in his heart he felt no little aggrieved. He had 
paid a big fee, and to him the evidence against 
Laura seemed fearful. He thought it would take 
a good deal of talk to demolish it. all ; but when 
Philbrooks sat down he was satisfied. The speech 
was, indeed, short; but there was not a common- 
place sentence in it. .Just as an ordinary ray of 
sunlight passes into a prism and emerges a dazzling 
21 


314 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


rainbow, delighting* the eye with its brilliant con- 
trast of colors, so the most ordinary facts and the 
tritest ideas passed through the mind of this won- 
derful genius, and came out beautiful pearls of 
thought, glittering gems of fancy, flashing meteors 
of imagery. It was brief, like a blinding flash of 
lightning, but when it was over, there could be no 
complaint as to its grandeur. It was over so soon 
the public were but just thrilled by it, when, like 
the dull, dead stick of a sky rocket, the speaker 
scrambled into a chair, seized a pen and began 
industriously writing letters which he continued 
doing all through the county attorney’s address. 

The people who watched him writing at the table 
as placid as a summer sea after that tempest of 
eloquence when he seemed so excited, wondered how 
he could calm down so suddenly and become so 
absorbed in other matters and still more how it 
was, when he was so staunch and zealous an advo- 
cate of the Pudneys, and seemingly so earnest a 
believer in the prisoner’s spotless innocence,. that he 
was not enraged at the way the county attornej^ 
was going on. Only once he paused in his letter- 
writing,, jabbed his penholder into the county attor- 
ney’s stomach (Ricketts was just giving a fancy 
sketch of the prisoner buying chloroform) and asked 
him to confine himself to the evidence if he pleased. 

Ricketts knew talk could not convict nor imagi- 
nary tales and theories do the work of sworn evi- 
dence ; but it would be necessary to abuse everybody 
all around to satisfy the public of his official purity. 
The Pudney crowd must be satisfied with keeping 
their relative out of prison, he could not afford to 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


315 


spare their feelings, too; and presently Pudney 
thought he was on trial himself. 

The eloquent and learned counsel for the defense, 
said Ricketts, his friend, General Philbrooks, had 
told the jury how superior to crime, to murder, to 
injuring one’s fellow-man riches and a happy home 
must have made this young woman; but was it true 
that great wealth, lie asked, raised men and women 
so high above us common mortals? No ! here sat 
a man (and he pounded the table in front of Pud- 
ney )> here sat a man who was once a poor, hard- 
working stone-cutter, respected by all who knew 
him, kind, considerate, and just to all his fellow- 
creatures, but riches had come to him, and what 
had riches made him ? The jury knew, his towns- 
men knew, that riches had made of Daniel Pudney 
a grasping, avaricious, overbearing man, denying to 
his workmen the bread which they earned by the 
sweat of their brow ! 

By this time Pudney looked apoplectic. He had 
been sitting with his head thrown back, his eyes 
fixed intently on the county attorney’s face and he 
tried hard to maintain the position; but when 
Ricketts began to recount the history of the first 
memorable strike of three years ago and laid bare 
the unworthy schemes by which he had prepared for 
it in advance, when he painted in graphic details 
the suffering of the men that bitter cold winter and 
told of the importation of foreigners to take their 
places, he withdrew his gaze, lowered his head, 
leaned his elbow on the table, and bowing his head 
upon his hand, sat gazing fixedly upon the floor 
looking abjectly wretched. 


316 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


But on and on went the pitiless lawyer, apparently 
filled with the bitterest rancor, telling how the men, 
rendered desperate by want, lost their judgment 
and good sense, and resorted to acts of violence; he 
described the riots, the many petty acts of revenge, 
and told how, at last, the great quarry itself went 
up in a grand holocaust to avenge the wrongs of 
the poor. And did the possession of wealth, even 
then, cause this man to relent ? .No ! he grew more 
and more heartless, more and more indifferent to 
the sufferings of others the richer he grew ! 

Pudney thought as he sat there that the Day of 
Judgment itself could not be worse. He thought 
the case was lost. He thought poor Laura was 
doomed, and doomed through the evil deeds of her 
father. Bible sayings floated into his mind. The 
sins of the father shall be visited on the children 
even unto the third and fourth generation. Laura 
must suffer for what he had done ! His ideas of 
the Deity were almost barbaric. He saw, like a 
revelation, that he was to be punished by a verdict 
against Laura. His head sank lower, a shiver 
passed over him, he was a sick man. Wolferts 
came to him and whispered in his ear, telling him 
to bear up — it would come out all right, but he 
shook his head, his woe-begone countenance was 
dark with the agony of his punishment. 

But it was four o’clock. Ricketts had filled his 
two hours full of abuse burning hot. The public 
must be satisfied, by this time, of his sincerity and 
of his official integrity, and if they were not, it 
fortunately happened that he was not so constituted 
as to lie awake nights worrying about what people 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


317 


thought of his fidelity or of his ability. He did not 
hope by such a speech to down the criticisms of 
his brethren of the bar who, of course, would fully 
understand why he called Chat wold to prove what 
could have been easily shown without him. The 
defense, they would say, must have put him on the 
stand if the State had not and the prosecution could 
then have cross-examined him and introduced the 
evidence of Miss Dalrymple and the rest. Of course 
the lawyers would say Pudney was rich and 
Ricketts was sharp. But his mind was in no way 
disquieted by the sneers of the bar over his man- 
agement of the case. Their animadversions would 
be regarded by the general public (who were looking 
on to see for themselves where the screw was loose) 
as evidences of professional jealousy or partisan 
rivalry. Still less was he disturbed by haunting 
memories of divers simple and childlike drug clerks 
who, doubtless, were thinking it was “ kinder funny ” 
that the prosecuting attorney of Knox County, 
Maine, never sent them the promised despatch 
,v when he wanted them.” They* were welcome to 
conclude that that hour had not yet dawned. He 
would have been glad to retain the respect of all 
mankind; he particularly regretted the necessity 
of losing the good opinion of Judge Goddard who 
was powerful politically as well as high socially; 
but it were puerile to long for one’s cake and penny 
too. The cake was in his pocket and the penny was 
on the counter. He would turn his eyes from the 
one and revel in the delights of the other. 

He took a seat by the side of Philbrooks who was 
just licking postage stamps and pounding them on 


318 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


his letters like any ordinary person; and the jury, 
with great eagerness and with faces drawn with 
anxiety, turned towards the judge. Every face of 
the dozen seemed mutely and earnestly asking: 
“ Has there been legal evidence enough to convict ? 
We all think, down in our hearts, she’s guilty; but 
has the State proven it ? ” 

The judge seemed to read their faces and what 
he said, as the jurors afterwards described it, 
“ went to the right spot.” 

He told them at the . outset that it was highly 
important to discriminate between an opinion which, 
as private citizens, for their own personal guidance, 
they might form and were entitled to form, of the 
guilt or innocence of the accused, and the opinion 
which they might arrive at in their present capac- 
ity as jurors. They were not bound, in forming 
an opinion as private citizens, simply by the sworn 
evidence heard in court. They were at liberty to 
make personal inquiries or assist themselves in any 
reasonable way in arriving at a conclusion concern- 
ing an accused person’s guilt which should satisfy 
their own consciences as to whether such person 
was one to whom they would give the right hand 
of fellowship. But as jurors they must divest 
themselves of all knowledge of the alleged offense 
except that derived from the sworn evidence heard 
on the trial. The law, the constitution itself, rightly 
provided that an accused person should be con- 
fronted with the witnesses against him. They were 
not at liberty, therefore, as jurors to heed the un- 
sworn statements or insinuations of the counsel on 
either side. They might have reason to believe that 


PUDNEY & WAIf. 


319 


other evidence existed, which, if produced in court, 
would have had an effect upon their opinions; hut 
they had nothing 1 to do with evidence not offered 
or not admitted. It was not their fault if there had 
been such deficiencies. They must conceive of 
^themselves as knowing nothing whatever of the 
facts in the case excepting that which they had 
derived from the testimony of the witnesses on both 
sides as heard in court; and if they found that evi- 
dence, in itself, sufficient to produce a belief in the 
prisoner’s guilt, they must convict ; but if they found 
that evidence was not, in itself, sufficient to convince 
them of her guilt without a reasonable doubt they 
must acquit. 

The jury went out. The expression of uncertainty 
and perplexity which had rested on the faces they 
had upturned to the judge had vanished. It looked 
like a jury that would make but one ballot. 

Philbrooks looked at his watch. If they returned 
in fifteen minutes he could make his train with 
ample time for farewells all around. 

Pudney sat white and hopeless, chewing a piece 
of paper. The prophetic utterances of Wolferts and 
even those of Philbrooks, had no effect upon him. 
This case was an affair of the Almighty’s and man 
was a nullity as concerned the results. 

Miss Pudney herself, a little wearied by her pro- 
tracted attendance at court and bored by her ardu- 
ous role of artless young lady, had suddenly dropped 
the mask and sat looking scornful and haughty. 

Only five minutes, and there was a stir at the 
door. The jury filed into the box. 

It could not be said to be a joyous-looking jury; 


320 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


there were no smiles on their faces; but they looked 
to a unit like men who felt that they had discharged 
their own duty whatever might be the derelictions 
of other people. The verdict was, of course, "Not 
guilty;” but equally of course, there was a great 
deal of head-shaking, and there were a great many 
looks of mute condemnation among the people in 
the audience who had come to see fair play and find 
out for themselves where the screw was loose. Some 
blamed the jury; some blamed the judge; but none 
of them once murmured against the hardworking, 
the honest, the incorruptible Ricketts. 

Suddenly above the mutterings of the crowd were 
heard loud cries and sharp calls. There was a sud- 
den rush up front. An impenetrable group sur- 
rounded somebody or something near the counsel 
table and the word went around that Pudney had 
dropped dead. 

There were several minutes of agonizing suspense 
(for it is agony to be so thrilled and excited) ; then 
Philbrooks, looking hurried but at ease in his mind, 
pressed his way through the throng, and the word 
went around again that Pudney had revived. Half 
of the crowd then rushed out to stare at the late 
prisoner who had gone out with her aunt, and the 
other half stayed to stare at the group up front — 
Pudney with the duke and Emmie at his side and 
the jurors surrounding him. 

Tears were on Pudney’s cheek. He was shaking 
hands with the jury. Some of them thought he 
would hate to be beholden to charity and compas- 
sion and they said : 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


321 


“ We couldn’t do anything* else 3 T ou know, Pudney, 
under that charge.” 

But Pudney never stopped to consider whether 
they could have done differently under the charge 
or not; all he* thought of was — they had not pun- 
ished him! Bible texts again were running through 
his mind. God had granted him a little time longer 
to repent. The Almighty had but staid his punish- 
ment. 

He wiped the tears from his cheeks and in husky 
tones said: “ You’ve done better by me than I done 
by you ! But if my life is spared, I calc’late to turn 
over a new leaf ! ” 


322 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

PUDNEY GETS A BIG SITUATION. 

Everybody noticed that Pudney’s troubles had 
made a different man of him. The rich and aihsto- 
cratic thought his heart was broken, his pride hum- 
bled by the shame and disgrace of his daughter. 
To them he appeared to have lost all ambition if 
not all interest in life. They observed that he no 
longer put on a swallow-tail coat and white kid 
gloves; he no longer wore diamonds; he had laid 
aside his glossy silk hat and had gone back to a 
derby; he had ceased to give grand dinner-parties; 
he was no longer seen on the road behind a fast pair 
of trotters; and there was something now in his 
reserved, distant nod that seemed to say, “A wide 
gulf lies between us. I no longer belong to society.” 

And the men in the quarry saw a change. They 
saw he could look his men in the face, that he no 
longer hated to speak to them, no longer crossed 
the street to avoid them. The reason was plain: 
there were no more starvation wages, no more 
Castle Garden gangs, no more strikes. 

At home, in his solitude, he took to reading the 
Bible after the Methodist fashion, and it always 
opened at something concerning the hardness of 
the rich man’s heart and his oppression of the poor. 
How many things there seemed to him in the Bible 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


323 


about the rich grinding 1 down the poor and the Al- 
mighty punishing them for their wickedness! It 
frightened him to look back upon what he had done 
and he wondered his punishment had not fallen on 
him sooner and heavier than he could bear. It 
scared him to think these things had been in the 
Bible all this time, and he was living in ignorance 
of the wrath he was stirring up. He remembered 
how poor Lib used to try to quote Scripture to him 
and he refused to listen. He was like a mariner 
who should shut his eyes to all signals of danger 
and to all beacons of safety, and run his ship blind- 
fold till he struck on the rocks! 

Nothing now claimed Pudney’s interest and at- 
tention but business and public affairs. The great 
empty house was gloomy. The wife he had been 
looking for he had given up seeking. 

“ What’s the use ? ” he said to himself with a sigh. 
“I wouldn’t want to marry any woman who 
wouldn’t be willing to tell me her whole life’s his- 
tory the minute the ceremony was over, and I’ve 
got no right to expect that unless I tell her mine 
too, and I hain’t goin’ to get married again to talk 
these things over with any new wife. It’s a pretty 
history to tell! But what would life be worth to 
be married and not dare speak of your past! To 
be all the time brooding over it and have to keep 
your mouth shut ! I couldn’t stand it. I’d rather 
live alone, lonesome as I am.” 

And he kept to his resolution. As to Laura, he 
gave her the same that he had given the other two, 
putting it in trust with Wolferts, but her name 
never passed his lips except at long intervals when 


324 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


Emmie came to Seaview ; then he would draw her 
aside, and with his eyes turned away, would ask 
under his breath: 

" Where is She ? ” 

And Emmie, with her hand pressed tight on her 
heart, would reply in a low voice, hardly steady : 

" In Spain ” — or Belgium or Germany as the case 
might he. 

Then in a voice that by that time was husky he 
would ask : "All right ? ” 

And Emmie’s answer to that was only a faint, 
whispered, " Yes ! ” 

Thus passing his life, in his loneliness and sorrows, 
Pudney found solace in watching the course of pub- 
lic events. He could scarcely be said to have 
"plunged into politics ” by design ; but he took so 
active and energetic a part in so many public 
affairs of importance that almost before he knew 
it he became conspicuous; and the next thing he 
knew, they had nominated him for the legislature, 
and he said, "Well, if they think I’m capable of 
filling the bill, I’ll go. I don’t know what else I’ve 
got to live for.” 

So he went to the legislature but he was not ambi- 
tious; he was unmoved by notoriety. He had 
simply found work to do — a chance to be useful to 
those whose interests lay nearest his heart and it 
filled the great void in his life. His grammar was 
not always perfect, but there was no one who knew 
him well who thought Pudney of no account but 
for his money. His public speeches were so noble 
in sentiment, so full of sound principles and honest 
doctrines and displayed so much originality and 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


325 


depth of thought, that no one whose respect was 
worth having honored him the less for any little 
fault in their garb. 

From the legislature, where he fought the work- 
ingman’s battle four years, where next did the 
stone-cutter go ? 

The people are not often more successful in select- 
ing their best men for responsible places. How it 
happened this time — Pudney’s party were in need 
of him. He was certain to capture the working- 
man’s and the temperance vote and they nominated 
him on the first ballot, and without any seeking on 
his part, he was made governor of his State — chiefly 
by the working classes whose interests he had 
watched over with even more vigilance than he had 
ever given to his own business. The questions 
affecting the laboring classes were not settled in 
Pudney’s mind by logic or any process of ratiocina- 
tion. With him it was a heart affair and to the 
day of his death, he remained their steadfast friend 
and was regarded by the Knights of Labor as tak- 
ing more progressive action in their behalf than 
any previous governor of the State. 

As to the effect of his election on Pudney himself, 
he was too earnest in his work to contemplate his 
own greatness. He never thought of his high office 
as the attainment of earthly glbry. He only felt 
that they had given him a big situation with a 
great deal of important business to attend to. 
There was no use trying to make an aristocrat of 
Pudney any more. That was over. He had sowed 
his wild oats in that respect. He was the same 
simple, unaffected, plain man that ever he was, less 


326 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


dazzled by his elevation than by the money he anJ 
Walp made out of their first contract. 

In the company of snobs he took pleasure in de- 
scanting 1 on his humble origin and the struggles and 
poverty of his past life. 

“ Pm sorry, Em, I ever had the shanty torn 
down,” he said to his daughter when she was visit- 
ing him in Augusta. “Can’t you spare me that 
picture you made of it ? I want to hang it in my 
parlor to show the flunkies that swarm ’round where 
I used to live.” 

“You shall have it. The duke made a copy of it 
with me in the background feeding poor mother’s 
chickens.” 

“ Why, that’s a duke worth having in the family! 
Em, I often think those were the happiest days of 
our lives ! ” 

“We were happy at Seaview, father.” 

“Yes, at first, but the strikes and — so many 

other troubles It seems to me sometimes when 

it all comes over me that I can never do enough to 
blot it all out! Em, I hope you are happy. I guess 
I shall have to call and see the duke when I come 
down. I spose he wunt set the dogs on me! He 
was very clever to me the last time I saw him. 
Now tell the truth, Em, are you happy, honest and 
true, shut up there in that castle with such a 
hermit ? ” 

“ Perfectly happy, father, perfect^. The duke is 
never gloomy now. We neither of us want any- 
thing in this world more than we possess already. 
We accept Aunt Sue’s invitations from a sense of 
duty to her. She has done a great deal for our 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


327 


family. We have caused her a great amount of 
trouble and anxiety." (Her father knew she was 
thinking of Laura and the care and anxiety that 
wanderer over the face of the earth was and would 
be as long as she lived.) “Both she and Uncle 
Wolferts have done a great deal for us and I, for 
my part, feel that I ought to do all I can to please 
her, and the duke thinks so, too. This is why we 
always accept her invitations and we do it cheer- 
fully; but more than that* we want nothing of so- 
ciety. Two people could not be happier than we 
are." 

She looked all the happiness she claimed and her 
father refrained, for that day, from darkening her 
face with the question in his mind — that awful, per- 
turbed whisper, “Where is She ?" 

“You are right, Em," he replied, “about pleasing 
your Aunt Sue. I don't know what would have 
become of us if it hadn't been for her and your Uncle 
Wolferts. I guess I shall have to try and get down 
to that party she is going to have next week. I 
didn't think I could I'm so busy, but I know she 
will take it hard if I don't come. But you tell her 
I wunt wear a dress coat." 

“A governor can dress as he likes." 

“ Fudge! don't talk that way ! If I can dress any 
slacker for bein' a governor, then by George, I'll 
wear a swallow-tail! I never expected such talk 
from you. You were never like the rest. (Thank 
heaven ! he felt like adding.) Such a queer chick ! 
Do you ask as many questions as you used to, 
Em?" 

“ I believe so." 


328 


PUDNEY & WALP. 


“I expect the duke can answer them! Have you 
ever stuck him yet ? ” 

“ Yes. I asked him a question the other day that 
he had to give up.” 

“ What in the world was it, Em ? ” 

“ Whether we shall know each other in Heaven. 

"What! couldn’t the duke answer that? I’m 
surprised, much as he knows! That’s the easiest 
question I ever heard you ask ! Of course you will 
know each other in Heaven ! ’T wouldn’t he Heaven 
to be pokin’ ’round ’mongst strangers all the time! 
I couldn’t bear the thoughts of that. You may 
depend on it, Em, we shall all know one another in 
Heaven ! ” 


THE END 












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